Devils Den
by ArmyManintheAshtray
Summary: Dean and Sam have never encountered a case quite like this one – gnawed bones, burned bodies, victims sucked dry like mummies. Set in Season 11, this story follows Dean and Sam to Tennessee to pursue a thin lead and take their minds off of the looming threat of the Darkness. But the case quickly becomes more complicated than they imagined.
1. Chapter 1

This story is set in Season 11 following the episode The Vessel.

Chapter 1

Dean had been standing there for nearly five minutes, flipping the pack of matches over and over in his hand. He hadn't really imagined that this part would be so hard. Of all the things he had done over the past few hours, he had thought this simple act would be perfunctory, automatic. Truthfully, maybe he had expected to simply be numb at this point. Everything was ready to go. All he had to do was light the damn thing. How many times had he done this?

 _Too many_ – his mind answered. Around and around his head the argument went, always ending in the same place.

 _Just light it up_ –

 _I can't, I just_ –

 _Why not? This is nothing. This is just the way the business works_ –

 _It might not be over, something could have gone wrong_ –

 _You know he's been standing back there for ages now. He would have stopped you if something was wrong_ –

 _I just can't do it_ –

 _Of course you can. How many times have you done this? –_

 _Too many_ –

And on and on it went. The pack of matches kept flipping, and Dean kept standing there, and the night kept getting darker.

He could feel the cold seeping through his clothes now. It was just early March, but temperatures had been surprisingly mild for a few days. It looked like spring might actually be on its way. Dean had noticed a particular tree that was blossoming along many of the roadsides. It was generally small and gnarled, seeming to fight for its place against bigger, thicker trees, but it had a tiny purple bloom that appeared to spread over every inch of its branches. Seen from a distance, these blooms had a hazy quality, like a purple aura surrounding the tree, and the color was vibrantly obvious among the winter-bare branches of the surrounding vegetation. Dean had even gone so far as to Google the name of the tree. It was called a redbud, according to some site, which he thought was stupid since it was clearly purple, but he had to admit that he liked spotting the little things.

He had surprised himself with his interest. Trees were not usually something he spared much attention for. He finally decided he simply liked what the little trees represented – something small, insignificant, yet struggling to show the world that better days were coming.

The redbuds had been dead wrong, of course. Over the last couple of days, the weather had done an abrupt 180 and returned to winter with a vengeance. Wouldn't you know it, Dean had thought to himself with more resignation than bitterness. Resignation had become a habit some time ago. Bitterness was an active thing, something that required strength, and Dean had so little of that left. Apparently not even enough to light one simple match. There he stood, the cold encircling him, creeping into his bones – into his heart –

"I know you're there," he said with sudden gruffness. "You might as well come out and quit skulking around."

"I didn't know if you would want anyone with you or not." Cas emerged from the surrounding trees where he had been silently standing. "I don't believe I was skulking…"

"Whatever. Everything good? He's set?"

"Yes, I saw him, everything is…as good as could be expected." Cas answered the abrupt queries.

"Did you talk to him? Did he say anything?" Cas was silent for a moment.

"I did not talk to him. I'm not sure, but it seemed an awkward time to engage in conversation." Dean exhaled in what was almost a chuckle.

"I guess that's some progress, Cas. At least you know when to be uncomfortable." They both stood without speaking for some time longer, Dean staring straight ahead and Cas glancing at him occasionally to see if he was making any move toward completing his task. Cas finally broke the silence.

"Dean, I can do this for you if you would rather not."

Dean began shaking his head before he spoke.

"No…no…I have to…I mean, thanks, Cas, I know you're trying to help…but I have to…" Dean took a long breath, "…I have to do this myself." He tried to smile. "I didn't build this overgrown pyre just to let somebody else set it off."

"I assume it is larger than most pyres would need to be," Cas said thoughtfully, forcing an actual laugh from Dean. He was still laughing as he rubbed both hands briskly over his face, rubbing feeling back into his frozen skin, rubbing away the tears that had fallen.

Finally, he tilted his head back and took a steadying breath. Then looking straight ahead, Dean pulled a match from the pack, struck it on the side of the box, and threw the tiny flame in front of him.

The pyre was well built and soaked with gasoline. From the spark of the little match, it was engulfed in flames almost immediately. Dean forced himself to watch as the white-shrouded figure atop the structure caught the surrounding fire and began to burn.

Too many, he thought to himself. That was how many times he had burned a loved one's remains on just such a pyre. But this would be the last one.

"Bye, Sammy."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Meth had been an absolute godsend as far as Danny Muse was concerned. All anyone needed was drain cleaner, iodine, pseudoephedrine pills - pseudoephedrine was cheap and plentiful in East Tennessee, lots of allergies, lots of Sudafed - a few other simple ingredients, and a place to cook the product. Not in your own house or trailer, of course. Danny wasn't a dumbass like some of the guys he had seen. He had used an outbuilding on his Uncle Herbert's land and cut him in on a tiny portion of the profit. It wasn't like Herbert missed the outbuilding. Danny had been forced to bush hog nearly a quarter-acre of land just to find the long forgotten thing and then disgorge it of rusted farm equipment, mice, bats, and, worst of all, a copperhead nest. But it was a perfect location, hidden in a hollow of his uncle's land, far from the road and from prying eyes.

So all to do then was gather his supplies, cook up a batch, and get it out for distribution. Clemmer Adams, his top sales guy, had worked in the produce department at the IGA, so Danny usually met up with him unloading bananas or potatoes behind the store and made the exchange. Clemmer was good for paying quickly, within the week at most. Danny didn't fool with anyone more than once if they didn't pay.

Or you could get the word out where you could be found, a different bar for each night of the week was preferable, and sell straight to the junkies themselves - upfront payment only in those cases. Of course, when you dealt with the addicts, the cash always ran out eventually. That was when the real deals could be made. You just had to be able to stomach looking at a wailing, strung-out junkie and telling them that you weren't in the charity business, and they were just going to have to find something to sell or trade. They always went for trading something, since that was so much quicker than trying to orchestrate a sale themselves. Whether the something belonged to them or to someone else was not Danny's concern. He had once gotten a watch that he pawned for over ten times the amount he would have charged for the meth in cash. He had even recognized the name engraved on the watch, and it sure hadn't been the name of the scabby creature holding it up to him with desperate hope of scoring a hit. Obviously, Danny had a pretty strong stomach.

He couldn't imagine now where all the cash had gone. Danny had actually made an excellent accountant in some respects, keeping meticulous records of his expenses, his sales, his profit margins, his accounts receivable. He knew where every dollar came from and where every dollar went for supplies. But the other dollars, thousands upon thousands of them, the ones that he considered profit, just ran through his hands like water. He bought big screen TVs and 4-wheelers and shotguns and huge knives that he liked to collect. He bought a pet boa constrictor and all the fancy accoutrements for keeping a reptile. He partied and drank and took a whole group of friends to Panama City for a week once to get drunk and sunburned. He bought the biggest, shiniest truck he could find with every option available, and a brand-new double-wide trailer. Eventually, though, and as always, the good times ran out.

New laws made it harder and harder to get the supplies he needed. Squeezing the little man was how Danny saw it. He was just trying to run a small business, but the red tape began making it an absolute nightmare. Drugstores started keeping records and asking for ID when certain drugs were purchased, even over the counter drugs. Danny had to actually pay other people, usually junkies, to acquire the amount of pseudoephedrine he needed. Then came the new, portable cooking methods and suddenly the junkies were using his money to buy the pills and then never bringing them to him. Instead, they were doing the cooking themselves in an empty Dr. Pepper bottle in the backseat of their '95 beater. Sure there was the risk they would blow themselves up, but junkies weren't really known for their astute risk analysis.

The real nail in the coffin, though, had been the meth coming in from Mexico. Cheap meth and lots of it. No problem there, apparently, getting as much pseudoephedrine as you wanted, and the pipeline direct to the hills of East Tennessee seemed to be bustling and well maintained. Danny didn't really consider it in these terms, but his mom 'n pop business had essentially been Wal-Marted.

So now his cover job of working at the Co-Op had become his only job. And it didn't pay at all like the previous job. Most nights and weekends he just sat in his double-wide watching old DVDs on his big screen, since he had quit paying his satellite TV bill. His 4-wheelers mostly sat idle, since both they and the truck to haul them took gas, and that all took money – not to mention how his friends' interest in joining him had dropped off when Danny was no longer providing the beer and the burgers and the weed.

The one bright spot as far as Danny could see was that he had never gotten himself hooked on his own product. Not like some dealers he knew. They were just like those pathetic junkies he had sold to, the ones headed nowhere but the grave with a rocket strapped to their ass.

Danny was watching one of the Fast and Furious movies, and wondering idly what the average life expectancy was for a meth addict, when a loud banging on the trailer door startled him into a near heart attack. Who in the hell would come to his trailer and be knocking like that? He snagged one of his shotguns from where it lay beside the couch and carefully walked over to the window. Peering through the crack in the heavy curtains, he was able to observe his front stoop without being seen. What he saw there startled him even more than the knocking had.

Clemmer Adams, number one distributor of Danny Muse Special Mix Meth, stood there pounding on his door and looking seriously pissed at being kept waiting. Two things made this remarkable. The first was that Clemmer had never come to Danny's trailer, or anywhere on Danny's or his family's property. Clemmer preferred, as he put it, "to not know shit about how or where you do your end of the business." But the second reason was what had really stiffened Danny's spine and made his stomach clench. Clemmer was dead. Not only had Clemmer's charred remains been pulled out of his wrecked GT just over a week ago, but Danny had personally attended Clemmer's funeral and paid his last respects.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Hey, see if there are any fries left in there..." Dean had one hand on the steering wheel of the Impala and one hand held out expectantly toward Sam as he navigated the narrow country road.

"There's a few of my sweet potato fries left," Sam reported as he rooted around in the bag from the diner where they had stopped. Dean curled one corner of his upper lip and made a retching motion.

"I meant real fries, dude. Not...whatever those things are. If you can't give me any decent food, at least look for some decent tunes."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he reached over to fiddle with the radio dial. He eventually found a classic rock station but then turned it down so low that it was almost inaudible.

"Hey! That was Skynyrd!"

"Yeah, I know, but we're going to be there in less than an hour, so don't you think it's about time we talked about what we're doing here?"

Dean and Sam had left Lebanon, Kansas, early the day before, spent the night along the way, and would be arriving in Oneida, Tennessee, in the early afternoon. The hunt was based on information that Sam had found, but he had barely started his explanation before Dean agreed to the trip. Apparently, any excuse to get them out of the bunker and back on the road was good enough for right now.

Sam understood; he felt the same way. Too much time cooped up, pouring over the volumes of information contained in the Men of Letters stronghold, and always seeming to come around in the same circle – the Darkness was getting stronger, and there was no way to stop her.

And now they didn't even have their friend Cas for help. Finding out that Cas had agreed to, or been tricked into, letting himself be possessed by Lucifer had been devastating. Despite being an angel, Cas had become like a brother to the both of them. And Sam knew that Dean's bullet-proof persona masked a heart that could be easily wounded by someone he considered family. Plus, regardless of what had led to Cas' possession, their angel brother was obviously in a bad state now. Sam could see that it was gnawing at Dean. Being helpless, as they were in the effort to help Cas, was not something the Winchesters took to with good grace. He and Dean both needed this hunt, Sam felt sure of that. He just hoped there was really a hunt to be had.

The story had been an investigative report done by the Knoxville News Sentinel on the devastation created in rural East Tennessee communities by drug abuse. Meth addiction had hit hard in the early 2000s, then was followed by prescription painkiller abuse, and now heroin was making a comeback. All of them continued to ravage families and individuals and be a bane to law enforcement. So much illegal activity could be found on the periphery of drug abuse – robberies, prostitution, shootings, deaths, and disappearances. Because of that, Sam frequently encountered such reports as he tried to pick up traces of supernatural activity. Disappearances and unexplained deaths were two markers he and Dean were always on the lookout for.

For the most part, though, there was nothing suspicious in the drug abuse stories. At least not supernatural suspicious. People really did disappear, and sometimes they turned up dead and sometimes they didn't turn up at all. But the reasons tended to be tragically mundane – overdoses, drug exchanges gone wrong, money owed. There were any number of normal explanations for addicts and dealers who were never heard from again. Something in the story had caught Sam's attention, though.

"Listen, they interviewed this one doctor in Oneida talking about what meth addiction does to the body…"

"I know, man." Dean interjected with a shudder, "I've seen those pictures. They're uglier than some of the things we've hunted."

"True," Sam agreed, "but get this – 'The effects of meth addiction are devastating to the human body,' Dr. Ogle said, 'I have seen some patients that I can't believe are still alive, and I have seen some dead bodies with horrific, unexplainable injuries.'"

"Okay, that's a little weird," Dean said. "Why would the injuries be unexplainable? Their teeth fall out, their skin peels off, and they either just die, or they overdose, or they got shot, or…"

"Exactly. And there's another part of the story where the police chief is quoted saying that Oneida has 12 open missing persons cases right now. The story's linking it to the drug abuse angle, but I don't know. There's only, like, 3,800 people in the whole town, Dean. I just have a feeling that something is going on…"

"Well, that's our job, right?" Dean said. "Finding out if something is going on and taking care of it."

"Look, Agent Medlocke, Agent Van Zant, I really think this is a waste of time for the FBI." Sam and Dean had presented their expertly crafted fake FBI badges to the Oneida Police Chief, Dale Hutchison, in his office at the City-County Building and explained why they were there to see him. "I never would have given that number of missing persons if I had known what that reporter was going to do with it – just throw a number out there completely out of context."

"Why don't you give us some context, then, Chief Hutchison?" Sam suggested in a voice that was careful to hold only mild curiosity. He and Dean had often butted heads with local law enforcement in their younger years. Sometimes, the "trumped up security guards", as Dean had often referred to them, seemed desperate to remain blind to supernatural activity in their jurisdictions. Other times they were deliberately ignorant and obstructive.

Over the years, though, they had also run into some enormously helpful law officers. Two of the most helpful, Sheriffs Jody Mills and Donna Hanscum, were practically honorary hunters. Nowadays, the Winchesters attempted to approach local law officials with the assumption that the officers wanted to be helpful. The more refined Winchester attitudes, coupled with the fact that they no longer looked like 20-somethings out to cause trouble, often meant that they were met with nothing worse than amused confusion. Sometimes they even got actual help. Mostly, though, they still ended up working around the locals.

"Well, for one thing, one of the missing persons was accounted for less than a week later as an eloped 16-year-old, and one was a lost hiker in the Big South Fork National Park. He turned up, but I've got to count guys like that even though it ain't no fault of mine that some greenhorn set out on his own in the backcountry with no permit."

"I understand that a number just put out there in an article can be misinterpreted…" Dean carefully chose his words and tone of voice also, "but even 10 open missing persons cases is still fairly high for this size…"

"It was actually one more until just a couple of days before that reporter came through." Dean and Sam both turned to the police officer who had come in silently while they were talking and sat down at her desk just a few feet from them. As Dean quickly noted, she was an attractive brunette with medium length hair, appeared to be in her early to mid-thirties, and had a cute smile. Her nametag said McClanahan.

"Well, Officer McClanahan, could you tell us more about this other disappearance?" Dean asked.

Chief Hutchison groaned.

"Kayle, you're just stirring it up, aren't you?" he barked.

Officer McClanahan - Kayle - just smiled pleasantly. Apparently Chief Hutchison's bark was as bad as it got.

"Just that Clemmer Adams had been reported as missing up until about a week ago. Then all of a sudden half the town sees him driving his car around one afternoon. And, next thing you know, he's crashed it into a tree and gets barbecued down to just bones."

Dean and Sam both turned back to Chief Hutchison.

"Oh Lord," he said, shaking his head in exasperation. "Yes, Clemmer had been reported missing. Obviously that was some kind of misunderstanding. Like she said, he was seen all over town on that Thursday. He filled up a whole five-gallon container of gasoline for his 4-runner or something, put it in his vehicle with him, and then ended up at the bottom of a 20-ft ravine. Lord knows what that fool had been drinking...or smoking...or both most likely."

"Who reported him missing?" Dean asked.

"His brother, Davey." Kayle interjected before Chief Hutchison could open his mouth. He glowered at her darkly, but again she didn't seem the least bit fazed.

"And," Kayle continued, "Dr. Ogle thought there was something strange about the body."

"Well, hell!" Chief Hutchison said. "Of course there was something strange about it – there wasn't hardly any body left! It was burnt to a crisp by the time anyone could get that fire out. Lucky it wasn't just a pile of ash to bury!"

Sam glanced sideways at Dean and got the smallest of nods from his older brother. It was time for them to let the chief settle down a little.

"Could we get copies of the missing persons reports, Chief Hutchison?" Sam asked as he and Dean both rose from their seats. "We just need to be sure we can tell our supervisor we checked everything. You understand..."

"Sure, sure," Chief Hutchison answered tiredly. "Might take a while though."

"No problem," Dean replied. "We'll just come back for those later. We need to see if we can talk to Dr. Ogle now, anyway."

Chief Hutchison all but rolled his eyes at that, but he managed to refrain. He gave them directions to Dr. Ogle's office.

"In a town this size, she's the family doctor, the emergency surgeon, and the medical examiner, so she's almost always at her office."

The Winchesters shook hands with the chief and said their good-byes to Officer McClanahan. As Chief Hutchison turned to see them out, Dean gave Kayle a small nod and a conspiratorial smile. She returned a wink. As the doors closed behind them, Sam and Dean heard the chief barking orders at her to "get to copying, smart mouth, you just had to encourage them, didn't you?"

"Well, bless Kayle's heart," Dean said with a grin and an exaggerated Southern drawl. "I might need to buy her a drink for the trouble we've caused her."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dean and Sam found Dr. Ogle, as promised, in her medical facility just a couple of blocks off the town square. The building had originally been built as a private home; but it was now broken into a reception area, various exam rooms, offices, storage areas, and even an operating room if Chief Hutchison was to be believed. It had a distinctly cramped feel, and Sam was practically standing on Dean's back to keep from inconveniencing anyone waiting in the reception area. The three elderly patients, and the short, round receptionist, Marla, had all looked at them as though suspecting them of some horrible intentions. Sam and Dean tried to make themselves as small and non-threatening as they possibly could while waiting for Marla to summon the doctor.

"I was afraid someone was going to have a heart attack when I flashed my badge," Dean whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Just don't make any sudden moves," Sam whispered back, "and try not to look like someone carrying a gun."

"Oh sure…" Dean whispered a bit more forcefully. "I'm the one who looks scary here, you big Sasquatch..."

Sam was just about to reply when Dr. Ogle came through the door into the reception area. She was very pretty, with dark-blond hair that curled around her face in a short bob, and long-lashed green eyes. Dean noticed that Sam noticed the good doctor.

She shook hands with them both and invited them to follow her back to her office. Trailing behind her in the narrow hall, Dean nudged Sam to get his attention. He nodded towards the doctor, grinned, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Sam returned a look of pure exasperation, which only made Dean nudge him again and grin bigger.

"Shut up…" Sam hissed under his breath, but Dr. Ogle had stopped suddenly at a door on the right, and they both stopped just short of running her down.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Dean jumped in smoothly, "My partner was just commenting that it must feel a little shut off, living in such a small community."

Sam grasped at the lie, "Especially when you're probably used to a bigger city."

Dr. Ogle led them into the office, motioned for them to take seats, then crossed behind her desk and took a seat herself.

"Why would you think I'm used to a bigger city?" she asked. There was a certain bite in her tone that made Sam feel vaguely apprehensive, but he ploughed on regardless.

"Well, I just assumed that...as a medical professional...you probably weren't from around here…"

"I am from around here, actually," Dr. Ogle interrupted. "I was raised about a mile down the road. The high school I graduated from is just a block away from here." And then, to make Sam's discomfort complete, she leaned over the desk towards him, smiled wryly, and finished, "We had books and pencils and everything."

Seeing that he was helplessly mired, Sam held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

"I apologize. I in no way meant to imply that you couldn't be from this town…or that this town was incapable of…" Sam was sinking fast.

"It's a lovely town," Dean interjected pleasantly. "Beautiful area of the country. I can see why you would be proud of it." He looked at Sam with just the slightest touch of reproach. Sam gave up and leaned back in his chair, miming the locking of his lips and throwing the key over his shoulder.

Dr. Ogle smiled at that. "Alright then," she laughed. "It's okay. I'm sorry, too. I've just gotten that assumption a few too many times. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, Agent Medlocke. Now, why don't you both tell me why I've rated a visit from the FBI."

Sam had rarely been so grateful to change the subject. He jumped into the explanation for their presence, the investigation and their discussion with Chief Hutchison.

"What we're really interested in, Dr. Ogle, is what you found strange about Clemmer Adam's remains," Dean wrapped up for him.

Dr. Ogle looked uneasy. "It's probably not something the FBI would be interested in. Frankly, it doesn't make much sense, and I'm sure it was a mistake on my part..."

Dean and Sam waited patiently as she fell silent. A good hunter learned early on how important it was to know when to push and when to give a witness some room. Especially when a person had seen something that they feared must mean they were losing their grip on sanity. After a moment, Dr. Ogle resumed.

"I'm not a formally trained medical examiner, you understand. I just wear a lot of different hats. I've had a few classes, attended some seminars at Vanderbilt and at UT, the University of Tennessee in Knoxville."

"The Body Farm, right?" Sam asked excitedly.

"THE Body Farm?" Dean said. "That's in Tennessee?"

"Well, it is the original one, I believe – where they pioneered the study of human remains, how they're affected by exposure and weather and things like that." Dr. Ogle explained. "Absolutely fascinating place; the seminar there was incredible. So much information about decomposition rates of bodies, and how different situations affect them. And, of course, the insects…" she was leaning towards Sam now since his face had lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of the Body Farm. He was leaning in, too, his earlier misstep forgotten.

Dean groaned internally. Of course long-term research on rotting bodies was interesting, but he could see that Dr. Ogle and Sam were both in danger of veering into complete geek-out mode.

"So, this strange thing that you noticed about a completely incinerated body had something to do with the decomposition rate?" Dean interjected.

Dr. Ogle stopped short, blushing just slightly, and gathered her thoughts. Sam looked almost like he was blushing, too.

"Well...no…not that. I was just stressing that my medical examiner credentials are sparse. So if what I say sounds ridiculous, we can chalk it up to me missing a class, or maybe getting too wrapped up in the lecture on identifying animal attack remains."

"Animal attack?" Dean asked.

"Yes, it was a class specifically dealing with remains that might be found in remote areas, such as the Big South Fork. They showed us bones from the victim of a bear attack. Even though all of the flesh was completely gone, you could still tell that there had been an attack. You could see tooth marks on the bone." Dr. Ogle fell silent again.

"And that's what you saw on Clemmer Adam's remains?" Sam asked. "Tooth marks on the bones?"

"It's ridiculous, isn't it? But that's what they looked like to me." Dr. Ogle said. "I know that's impossible. He drove off the road. The car probably ignited on impact."

"Yeah, that doesn't leave much time for him to be bear jerky. Is it possible someone else's body had been substituted in the wreckage? Maybe good ole' Clemmer was faking his death?" Dean said.

"That's what I thought at first, but that's not it either," Dr. Ogle said, shaking her head decisively. "The remains matched Clemmer Adam's dental records exactly."

She spread her hands out in front of her in a helpless gesture. "I'm 100% certain it was Clemmer Adam's body. But he actually spoke to a friend at the gas station just 15 minutes before the car was found burning. So, he was alive, then he wrecked, then he burned up completely. But his bones looked like they had been gnawed clean."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Danny stood there in his trailer completely unable to move, staring through the tiny crack in the curtains of his front window. Clemmer Adams, dead and buried now for a week, was standing on his stoop banging on his front door. Danny's heart beat as though he had just finished a 50-yd dash, and his mouth felt like it had been lined in thick cotton batting. But worse than either of those were the feelings on his scalp and in his gut. Every hair felt as though it had been electrified, and his stomach roiled and clenched.

It was a primal fear unlike anything Danny had ever experienced. He had stared at a pistol being pointed straight at his face and not felt like this. At least a pistol was something you could understand, something you could respond to. This – whatever this was – his mind couldn't find any hold for it at all.

Clemmer reached up and pounded the door again, and Danny flinched as though he had been struck. With that sudden movement jarring the curtains at the window, Clemmer whipped his head around and stared directly into Danny's eyes. And suddenly the added terror of being spotted gave Danny's mind the push it needed to find an explanation.

Clemmer had faked his death. Of course. That had to be it. Danny had heard of people doing that before, especially with a body burned beyond recognition, right? Clemmer had faked his death – substituted someone else's body for his own and then pushed the car off the road and into the ravine. The relief that Danny felt at this obvious solution was instantaneous. Warmth spread through his body like taking a swallow of moonshine, and he almost sank to his knees.

Then Clemmer beat his fist on the door again, and Danny got angry instead. With two quick strides he was at the door, flinging it wide and almost knocking Clemmer back.

"What the hell are you doing, you bat-shit-crazy son of a bitch?" He bellowed. "What kind of damn idiot…." The tirade went on for a good while, with Danny's quality of cussing going up as he went on. Finally, he ended by threatening to blast Clemmer "right the hell off my property" while waving the shotgun at him.

"You don't seem as surprised to see me as I would've reckoned, Danny." Clemmer said calmly once Danny had fallen silent.

"Well, I can't say I wasn't surprised at first. Didn't figure you as bein' smart enough to fake your own death."

"You gonna invite me in? If I faked my death, I don't need to be standing outside here for too long, ya know." Clemmer pointed out.

Danny narrowed his eyes at him. What was Clemmer's game? Why had he come to Danny's trailer when he should be putting as much distance as possible between himself and everyone who had known him when he was "alive"? And why now, after over a week of being completely, believably dead? It was curiosity more than anything else that caused Danny to step back and allow Clemmer entrance to the trailer.

"What are you doin' here anyway, man? I don't know what kind of crazy you got goin' on, but I'm pretty sure I don't want any part of it. Why are you even still in the state?"

"I just came to see you, dude. See how you're doin'," Clemmer answered as he turned toward Danny. "Can I at least get a beer?"

Danny got a can of beer from the fridge and handed it to Clemmer who had taken a seat at the tiny kitchen table. Fetching his own beer from the end table next to the couch, Danny sat down at the table across from him. They both nursed their drinks for a moment, and Danny felt himself growing more and more uncomfortable. There was something about the way Clemmer was silently staring at him that made him definitely uneasy. Danny had never let go of his shotgun, but Clemmer seemed to be entirely unfazed by the implied threat.

A tiny alarm pinged somewhere in the back of Danny's brain. Clemmer Adams might not be a ghost, but a man who would fake his own death in such a spectacular fashion was definitely dangerous. The thought suddenly struck Danny that the body Clemmer had substituted for his own had once been a living, breathing person, too. Maybe he had just gotten a taste for killing and decided he liked it.

"You can take that with you, man. Time to hit the road." Danny stood up with the shotgun and motioned toward the door.

"I don't believe I will just yet, Danny." Something about the look Clemmer gave him was oddly familiar, Danny thought. It was a coldly appraising look. He just couldn't quite place where he had seen it before. Danny cocked the shotgun.

"I said you need to go."

Clemmer just stared. And Danny suddenly remembered where he had seen that look. It was the same look his pet boa constrictor gave the helpless little mice that were placed in his cage. Danny barely had time to panic before he was grabbed from behind.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"So are we thinking ghoul?" Sam, carrying backpacks and duffel bags, held the door to the motel room open with his elbow as Dean entered carrying bags of food and a six-pack of beer.

"The gnawed bones would fit," Dean answered, setting the food and drinks on the small table just to the left of the door. He gave a small nod of satisfaction, noting that the room was on the less skeevy side. "And so would Clemmer's appearance in town since the ghoul would be looking like its last meal. But I just don't know…"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Sam agreed dumping bags on each of the double beds. "What's a ghoul doing going after live victims?"

"Exactly. Not their usual taste. Those two we tangled with a while back had only gone off horizontal food for revenge."

"Yeah, I remember." Sam said.

They both sat down at the table and divided up the food in the bags. For a while, neither spoke as they ate and thought.

"And what's up with that many disappearances, anyway?" Dean mused aloud. "Even if you don't include Teen Mom or Bear Grylls, that's still a lot of people…"

"And if a monster is involved in one disappearance and death, it's hard to believe that the other disappearances are unrelated…"

"Which makes a ghoul seem even less likely. I've never heard of a ghoul with an appetite like that. I thought they could live for years on just a couple of corpses," Dean said.

They finished eating in silence.

"What we need are those missing persons files," Dean said. "I think I might call the ever so helpful Kayle and see how things are coming." He tossed his crumpled trash towards the basket in the corner. It missed and the wad of paper rolled under the nearest bed.

"Son of a…" Dean muttered as Sam laughed. Dean was just withdrawing his head from under the edge of the bedspread when his phone rang. Rising, he pulled the phone from his pocket.

"Well, speak of the devil…" Kayle was calling to let him know that their file copies were ready and that she would be at the police station for another half-hour finishing up some additional work.

"You coming with me?" Dean asked Sam after he hung up the call.

"I don't think so. I'm going to start on some research – see if I can come up with something else that likes to snack on live prey."

"Oh, okay," Dean said grinning at him.

"What?" Sam asked with obvious annoyance. That look on Dean's face always meant trouble.

"Nothing…I mean, I just thought you might be staying here in case Dr. Ogle called. You know, said she was at home where she left Clemmer's files. You could ask her over here…just the two of you…you could go full-on nerd about The Body Farm. You do have a way with the ladies."

"You're an idiot." Sam said.

Dean was already heading out the door laughing.

Five minutes later, Dean was pulling into the City-County Building parking lot. It was mostly empty, the majority of the employees having clocked out at 5:00 sharp. He tried the front door and then knocked on it lightly when he found it locked. Just as Dean was about to pull his phone out to call, Kayle appeared at the end of the hall and waved at him.

"Hey, sorry," she said, opening the door for him. "Chief Hutchison insists on locking all the doors when he leaves for the night."

"I don't blame him. If you disappear next, who's going to do his copying for him?"

Kayle laughed and rolled her eyes at him.

 _Definitely getting some good vibes here_ , _that wasn't even that funny_ –

They walked back to the police station area of the building, and Kayle pointed to a fairly thin stack of files on her desk.

"There they are," she said. "It really didn't take that long to make copies. There's not a whole lot to copy."

"Those files do look pretty anemic. "

"The thing is," Kayle explained, sitting on the edge of her desk, "none of the disappearances seem to have any leads. Every one of the ten people seems to have gone without any trace."

Dean sat in Kayle's office chair, picked up one of the files, and flipped through it.

"So, Chris McManigall doesn't show up for work for a couple of days, coworker finally goes looking for him, Chris' car is out front, unlocked apartment door, no signs of struggle or forced entry. And that's it."

"That's it." Kayle agreed. "Chris lived alone and none of the neighbors were too sure when he had last left or come in." She shrugged. "And the other reports are mostly the same thing. They all lived alone…"

"Were they all into drugs, like that newspaper article was suggesting?" Dean interrupted.

"They were, or had been. But I just can't see that being the reason for all of them to do these perfect disappearances."

"Perfect?" Dean raised his eyebrows in question.

"I mean, there's no trace of any of them. Vehicles accounted for, bank cards and credit cards taken but then never used anywhere, homes completely undisturbed." She paused and laughed a bit. "One of them we thought at first did have signs of struggle, but then Joey Wilson's brother said Joey's house always looked like that."

Dean laughed too. He riffled through some more of the files. "But these people – they've got friends, got family – why is no one raising a ruckus about them being gone?"

"Well," Kayle said. "That's the other part that makes it perfect. Every one of them is the type of person whose friends and family say, 'that sure doesn't seem like them, but maybe…' You know, maybe they would just decide to leave without telling anyone. Figure they'll show back up eventually. They're all kind of 'loose ends' sort of people, know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I think so," Dean answered. "Loose ties, loose commitments, loose cannons."

"Exactly. Really, Clemmer Adams was the only person whose family was insisting that we keep looking for him. His brother, Davey, was positive that something was wrong. But the others…" she shrugged again. "So then you think maybe they did just leave. Maybe all of them, within the last few weeks, just left their own cars, and either walked out of town or someone came and got them because none of them left on a bus or in a taxi, and they all must have had a buttload of cash because no one's used a credit card or a bank card…" Kayle trailed off and pursed her lips. It did seem like a ridiculous amount of coincidences.

"So, I take it Chief Hutchison is more worried than he's letting on?" Dean asked.

"He's worried, alright." Kayle answered, "He was actually glad to see you and Agent Medlocke today."

"Glad? Really?" Dean asked incredulously. "How does he act when he's not glad to see someone?"

"It's pretty brutal," Kayle answered with a playful smile. She swung her leg hanging over the edge of the desk and kicked him lightly. "Good thing I know how to handle him."

"Good thing you do," Dean smiled back. He spent a few more minutes flipping through the files. "If you have some time, I thought maybe we could grab a drink. You could give me the full scoop on these folks. And tell me how to handle Chief Hutchison."

"Thought you'd never ask."

Dean had just walked out of the motel room when Sam's phone buzzed. He felt a slight flush of embarrassment when he saw it was Dr. Ogle calling, just as Dean had predicted. She was home and had retrieved the file for Clemmer Adams. She was wondering if she could bring it to them wherever they were staying.

"I really hate to make you come out when you just got home," Sam said. "But my partner has the car right now. He went to pick up the copies of the missing persons cases from the police station."

"It's no trouble," Dr. Ogle responded. "I'll be there in a few minutes. The Bluebird Inn?"

After hanging up the phone, Sam sat there and tried to view the room with the eyes of a "civilian" - to see if there was anything that he and Dean casually overlooked that might disturb a normal person. They hadn't been there long enough to really spread out, but it probably wouldn't hurt for the duffel bag of weapons to be stashed in the closet. Dr. Ogle might expect FBI agents to be armed, but he felt sure that expectation didn't extend to knives – demon, angel, and silver – or vampire-size machetes. Eventually there would be printouts and pictures from their research lining the wall, but they hadn't had time for that yet. No need to worry about hiding news articles or pictures of monster lore. No bloody clothes, no hex bags or holy water, no moldy ancient research books. It was early in the hunt yet and the room looked pretty good.

He rose to put the weapons away and decided while he was up that he might as well brush his teeth. He was just coming out of the bathroom, sniffing one armpit to see if a clean dress shirt was needed – _do I even have a clean dress shirt?_ – when a knock sounded at the door.

Dr. Ogle had changed out of scrubs into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and carried a backpack with her that had obviously seen a lot of use. Sam mentally agreed with his earlier assessment, she really was very attractive. But unlike this afternoon at her office, she seemed more than a little nervous. After Sam opened the door, she waited until he moved away to pull out a chair for her before entering the room. She gave him a wide berth as she stepped in to reach the chair, clutching the backpack to her protectively as she sat. It occurred to Sam that she was deliberately not turning her back on him. What had changed between this afternoon and this evening to cause her behavior? And if she was afraid of him, why had she agreed to come meet him alone in his motel room?

Sam moved away slightly to sit on the corner of the nearest bed, afraid that joining her at the table might increase her nervousness. Dr. Ogle slowly reached into her backpack, to take out her files Sam assumed, but then paused as if lost in thought.

"Is everything okay, Dr. Ogle?" Sam asked. Was he was doing something that she was perceiving as threatening? He considered moving away to sit on the further bed, but Dr. Ogle looked like any sudden move might spook her.

"Dr. Ogle?"

"Call me Elizabeth," she answered reflexively. She wasn't actually looking at him as she spoke.

"Okay, then, you can call me Sam. Is everything...?"

"Who are you really, Agent Medlocke?" Elizabeth suddenly made eye contact with him, catching Sam off guard, but not so much that he didn't notice her hand, still inside her backpack, turn towards him. He realized with a shock that she was pointing a gun at him from inside the backpack. Sam sat very still. Still was always the best choice when someone had a gun pointed at you.

 _Is she the one responsible for these disappearances? If she is, she's about the worst monster I've ever met. I can see her hand shaking from here. What the hell?_ All of these thoughts ran rapidly through Sam's mind, followed by the final thought, _I do not want to have to hurt her._

Sam very slowly leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and his hands in the air.

"I'm FBI Agent Sam Medlocke. I can get my badge out again if you want. My partner and I are here to investigate a large number of disappearances in your town." Sam paused and trained his gaze at her backpack. "I don't think the gun is necessary."

Elizabeth's eyes flew wide at the realization that she had been discovered. For an instant, she looked as though she might try to bolt from the room. A brief glance at the distance from herself to the door versus herself to Sam seemed to change her mind. She straightened her back and glared at him instead.

"I don't think I'm so sure about that, Agent Medlocke." Elizabeth met his gaze defiantly. "Do you know Kelvin Caughron?"

It was Sam's turn to look shocked.

"Why do you ask?"

"He's my uncle," Elizabeth answered. "He's my mother's brother – the crazy uncle I wasn't really supposed to talk to. But I did anyway."

Sam's face was noncommittal, but Elizabeth apparently saw enough interest there to continue. She explained how Uncle Kelvin would come through town occasionally during her growing up years. He would normally stay just a day or two. Once, he had stayed a week while some horrible looking wounds on his left arm and leg and torso healed up a little. Elizabeth remembered that visit very well, along with the many fiercely whispered conversations that had gone on between her mom and dad during that week. After that, Uncle Kelvin came to see them less often.

And then came the summer just after Elizabeth's freshman year in college. Feeling extremely grown-up, and capable of handling whatever the adults were clearly trying to hide from her, she had grilled Uncle Kelvin about what he did, where he went, and why they saw him so infrequently. She had been relentless. The answer had left her stunned.

"He tried to give me as little detail as he could," she hurriedly told Sam, clearly presenting what she considered a defense of her uncle. "He just explained a little about what was out there. And about how it was his job to protect people from bad things. He was a hunter, Sam. I think you and your partner might be, too."

Sam took a deep breath. He stood up and walked a little further away from Elizabeth, sitting on the edge of the motel room dresser.

"The Kelvin Caughron I knew died…"

"Two years ago last May. Yeah, he was killed by…vampires." Elizabeth interrupted him.

Sam nodded his head. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Elizabeth a long look.

"My brother and I helped Aaron Roy clean out that vamp nest."

"Thank you for telling me. I never knew that." Sam could see tears in her eyes. "Aaron was hunting with him on that trip. He came by just long enough to tell me Uncle Kelvin was dead. He had asked Aaron to contact me if anything happened."

She told Sam everything then about how she had become suspicious of the two of them. How terrified she was when she investigated Clemmer Adam's remains in light of what little she knew from her uncle. How she had scoured the internet for other potential explanations for the bite marks. How she had grown more apprehensive with each disappearance.

"And then the FBI showed up. I just knew you were going to laugh at me, tell me that burned bones always looked like that. I was actually hoping that you would laugh at me. But you didn't, you acted just like Uncle Kelvin would…and that's when I got really scared."

If she was expecting a sympathetic response, she was certainly surprised. Sam had in fact been growing angrier throughout Elizabeth's explanation.

"Not knowing what was going on, not knowing who we were, you decided that the best thing to do would be to come meet me alone in a motel room and try to point a gun at me? Is that what your uncle taught you? Can you even shoot that thing?" _What kind of half-ass hunter left his family with just enough information to make them stupid?_

"I can shoot just fine!" Elizabeth answered. "Where else was I supposed to ask you questions like this, in the middle of Dee's Diner? I checked out your IDs. I knew you weren't real FBI. I just needed to know if you were dangerous, or if you were hunters."

"Trust me, the two aren't mutually exclusive," Sam said harshly. "And how do you know I'm a hunter?"

"Well…how would you know Uncle Kelvin? How would you know about him dying, and how he died, and what a vamp nest is?"

"No – I mean; how do you know I'm not something impersonating a hunter?"

Elizabeth's eyes went wide once more.

"Like a shapeshifter? How would you know all those things, then?" She paused, seized by a sudden horrible thought. "Do shapeshifters know everything the person knew?"

Sam dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head. Just enough information to be stupid.

"Yes!" he barked, "Yes, shifters get memories, ghouls get memories, lots of things do great impersonations. Did Kelvin not teach you a damn thing?"

Elizabeth flushed as though she had been slapped. "Mostly he just told me to call him if anything ever happened," she answered softly, and Sam felt like a complete jerk.

"Don't shoot me, okay? I'm going to teach you a few things." Sam slowly stood up and walked to the closet. Bringing the duffel bag out, he opened it and laid some items on the bed.

"First off, holy water," Sam held up a small flask, opened it, and sprinkled a little water on his arm. "It only takes a little bit to hurt a demon really bad."

Next, he drew a silver knife out of the bag. With a small grimace, he drew the sharp edge across his forearm until a clean line of blood showed. Elizabeth gasped.

"Lots of things hate silver. A cut that like would make the skin shrivel and bubble if I wasn't human." Finally, Sam took a small amount of salt and rubbed it on his arm and then into the cut. He gave a quick wince of pain. "That would look like rubbing hot coals on skin. You do those three tests, and you've covered about 90% of the dangerous things out there."

From the stunned look on her face, Sam decided that she needed some time to process all the new information.

"I'm going to bandage this up," he said.

When he returned from the bathroom with a fresh bandage on his arm, Elizabeth seemed to have finally gotten her bearings. And she was no longer holding onto the gun.

"Okay, maybe it was a bad plan. But the fact is, you are hunters, and I know what that means," she said. "So, where do we go from here?"

Sam was just about to reply that where she went was somewhere far away and safe, when his phone rang.

Seeing that it was Dean, he answered immediately. "What's up? What? Alright meet you there in five."

Sam hung up. "That was Dean. Two more bodies have turned up, but these didn't even look like accidents. Just two bodies next to a dumpster – looking like beef jerky."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"And you're sure you can manage this? You know how to do all the mumbo-jumbo and everything?" Dean asked. He, Crowley, and Cas were gathered in the dungeon of the Men of Letters bunker.

Crowley gave Dean an affronted look.

"Listen, pet, I'm perfectly capable of managing a spell. It's a very simple incantation really." He paused and gave Dean a sardonic smile. "It's only the ingredients that are bloody difficult."

Dean returned a withering look. Working with Crowley never got any easier. In fact, working with Crowley was why he was in the position he was in now. Dean looked down at his arm, at the Mark that tainted his skin. Having Dean take on the Mark of Cain had been Crowley's idea in the first place. Even Crowley had not foreseen the disastrous results of that decision. Unable to be killed while he possessed the Mark, Dean was both immortal and increasingly uncontrollable. But removing the Mark would set free an ancient force, known as the Darkness, which would destroy all of creation. Dean, and Sam, had instead chosen to make a last ditch effort at containment.

Cas had collected the majority of the ingredients for the spell they were using. Crowley's connections had been required for a few items. Favors from both heaven and hell had been called in to get everything they needed. The spell had come from the Book of the Damned. How Crowley had managed to get the translated spell from the book without Rowena's knowledge was anybody's guess, but he was highly motivated to find a solution to the problem of the Mark.

At one time, Crowley, King of Hell, had reveled in the notion that Dean Winchester might serve as his protégé. Demons for the most part were dull, plodding, and difficult to work with. They just didn't make up-and-comers like himself anymore, Crowley thought. But his attempt at harnessing Dean's potential as a demon had proven just how bad the Mark really was. So if Dean had instead chosen to lock himself away for all eternity, Crowley was more than willing to make that happen. And unlike Rowena, he required no deals and no payment. He would happily perform the binding spell guaranteed to last for eternity and beyond.

"Anyway, love, since you've already done the most difficult part, this does seem like a strange time to be having second thoughts," Crowley continued. "Figuratively speaking, your skirts are up around your waist, and your lacy little knickers are down around your ankles. Do you really think it's appropriate _now_ to decide you just wanted to hold hands?"

"Crowley," Cas' voice held a warning tone.

"I'm not having second thoughts," Dean snapped. "But we've only got one shot at this, and if you screw this up we've got no options left."

"You think I don't know that, mate? You think I want you running amok again as a demon?"

"I don't really give a rat's ass what you want, Crowley! And me as a demon is the least of your…"

"You as a demon was the worst bloody thing that ever happened to my kingdom!"

"Enough!" Cas interjected. "Dean and Sam chose this path. We just want to make sure that you are capable of fulfilling your role. We do have other options."

"If you are referring to that ginger bitch who calls herself my mother, I assure you that her involvement will not be necessary. I am entirely certain of both the spell's efficacy and of my ability to execute it correctly," Crowley said in a haughty tone. "Don't get your sooty little feathers ruffled, darling."

"Fine," Cas said in as even a tone as he could manage. "What needs to be done now?"

"Now, we need to begin preparing the throne with the blood of the intended." Crowley nodded at Dean. "Take a seat, love."

The wooden structure which stood in the center of the dungeon was known as the Dark Throne. Its exact age was undeterminable, but it had clearly been built at a time when a man over five-and-a-half feet tall would have been considered a commanding presence – six feet, practically a giant. Dean remembered how ridiculous Sam had looked sitting in it – slouched so that his head would lay back in the head cradle, elbows pulled back so that his wrists would fit into the cupped areas of the armrests. Radiating from the head cradle and armrests, designs had been carved over the entirety of the throne, narrow channels that crisscrossed and connected in intricate patterns. The darkly discolored wood indicated just how many times the throne had been used. The blood of its victims had filled and overfilled the channels carved into it - streaking and staining it most heavily where the neck and wrists were slit, but also where water and oils, mixed with spell ingredients, had been applied to wash the blood over the throne's entirety.

For hundreds of years, the Dark Throne had taken its victims and fulfilled the desires of the blackest hearts. But Dean would be making a request which had never been made before. Dean would be asking to be held in a sort of suspended state. Neither dead nor alive, he would exist in nothingness – a place where he would forever hold the Darkness at bay and forever be unable to harm anyone. It was the solution he and Sam had chosen, even knowing what was required to prepare the Throne.

 _By the hand of supplicant, the blood until death of family dear,_

 _By friend and foe, the blood of supplicant 'til death be near._

And so, unlike every previous bound and damned victim of the chair, Sam had sat willingly on the macabre throne, willingly contorted his body to allow his blood to run through its channels. And Dean – in a moment which even now, hardly a day since it had taken place, had already been blocked completely from his memory – had held the knife which made the fatal wounds.

"This next part has to be done over several days, you understand." Crowley said. "Essentially, your friend" – he waved a hand to indicate Cas – "and your foe" – he gestured to himself with a snarky smile – "cut you and bleed you out bit by bit until you're only just alive."

"Got it." Dean said. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at what he was asking of Cas, but it couldn't be helped. He sat, bending his body only slightly less than Sam had. Crowley picked up his knife, and after a moment's hesitation, Cas did, too.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When Danny Muse woke up, he could no longer feel his arms. It took several minutes to realize that his numb appendages were actually stretched above his body which was dangling from some point over his head. He tried several times to look up, but found that he didn't have enough strength to lift his head. His toes scraped against the floor, or possibly the ground, as the aborted movements caused his body to sway slightly. Danny's lungs ached with the need to take a deep breath, but with his arms above his head and his chin on his chest, it was almost impossible to do so. Finally, he settled for turning his head to one side and sucking in as much air as he could.

That was when he realized that he was not in total darkness, as he had at first supposed. There was a bit of light coming from a source somewhere to his left. He tried using the faint glow to work out what sort of space he was in, but it was slow, plodding work. His mind felt like it had been clubbed. Each thought was like trying to take a step through waist-deep sludge. It was a long time before Danny was able to piece together the rock walls and floor that he could see, and the cold, still air around him. He was in a cave.

There were smells, too, that his mind was trying to put in order. Putrid, moldering smells that spoke of filth and rot and decay, and an underlying metallic hint – blood. Again, it was a long time before Danny was able to reach any conclusion. When he did, he was horrified to realize that at least some of the smell was coming from his own body. The longer his mind focused on the smell, the stronger it became; until it was like a horrible, physical presence that Danny strained away from, desperate to escape.

His feet scrabbled at the rocky floor of the cave, and one toe was finally able to catch the tiniest of holds. It sent his body twisting slowly to the right. He felt a pulling and pinching in his neck as he turned, but his attention was arrested by what he could glimpse behind him in the cave – bodies, several of them.

As he twisted back, Danny tried to consider what he had seen, but it was so difficult. It was as if his mind was now deliberately refusing to work, refusing the information presented to it. For a long time, Danny simply hung there, silence pressing in on him, his mind stubbornly blank. But after a while, a sense of horror began creeping toward him from behind. Not knowing became worse than whatever was back there.

Finally, he flailed his legs again until he was able to turn himself almost entirely around. Rotating his hanging head, he forced himself to take in as much as he could of the display. He was able to count at least five bodies behind him, possibly more hidden in the darker recesses of the cave. Closing his eyes as he swung back, he reviewed the scene etched onto the front of his mind like some hideous nightmare. Bodies, strung up from the low cave ceiling just as he suspected he was - some dry and shriveled looking as mummies, some covered in blood and gaping wounds, some with IV lines attached to their necks. That would explain the painful sensation in his own neck. And something else, something about the wounds that he couldn't quite figure out.

He opened his eyes as he spun slowly around again to face the macabre scene. Just a few feet behind him hung a woman that he thought he recognized. Her head hung slightly back between her arms so that he could see her features. _April – April Ayers – I went to high school with her – she used to be a pretty good client_ – _she had a younger sister named May_ _–_ – his mind randomly shuffled through what he remembered of his former classmate. She hung there, completely immobile, and it was impossible to tell if she was alive or dead. Danny could see that one arm was mutilated, chunks of flesh missing in places – some covered with bandages soaked with fresh looking blood, others dark and clotted.

He closed his eyes as he twisted forward. What were those jagged wounds? Those missing pieces of skin and muscle? _Bites – something has bitten hunks out of April's arm_. He felt his stomach roil at the realization. But it was several more moments, several more rotations, before the full truth occurred to Danny. He was almost motionless again, no strength remaining to find another foothold, when he realized. Whatever was taking bites out of April's flesh had definitely done so while she was alive. And it had also bandaged the gaping wounds to minimize the blood flow, attempted to keep her alive for more mouthfuls later. As these thoughts coalesced in Danny's mind, a noise came suddenly to his ears. A high, keening wail – a noise of agonizing pain and terror that went on and on.

A figure approached Danny from the back of the cave, but Danny was completely unaware of its presence. The figure made no noise whatsoever, and when the unseen hand touched Danny's head he was unconscious almost instantly. He never even realized that the noise had been coming from his own mouth.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

When Sam and Elizabeth pulled up in Elizabeth's Camry, Dean and Kayle were waiting for them just outside the yellow police tape line. Several police vehicles, an ambulance, and a fire truck – all with their multi-colored lights blazing – created a wildly disorienting scene. Elizabeth actually held up a hand to shield her eyes from the lights while she tried to interpret what they were seeing. The police tape cordoned off a wedge-shaped alley created by the bend of a strip mall – a nail salon on one side and a tanning salon on the other. A dumpster was visible at the wider end of the wedge. Sheriff Hutchison and three police officers stood next to the dumpster attempting to interview a very small and very vocal Asian woman, most likely from the nail salon. Several other workers were with them also, all trying to translate at the same time for the one woman. Chief Hutchison looked distinctly frazzled.

Dean gave an exasperated eye-roll as Sam walked up. Clearly, he too had tried to interview the witness and her entourage.

"She found the bodies," Dean said, nodding over his shoulder at the interviewee. "Best I could tell, they were just behind the dumpster when she brought out the trash. Don't think she saw anything else, but I'm not sure…"

"Looks like the Chief's sending them off," Sam said. "Maybe he can tell us something more."

Sam, Dean, and Kayle all started under the police line, but Elizabeth hung back a bit.

"I'm not sure, am I allowed to come in there?" she asked hesitantly. Something in her voice indicated that she would be happy to stay on the perimeter of the event, but Kayle nodded emphatically.

"Sure, you're with us. You'd probably be looking at the bodies next anyway, right?"

"Well…I guess that's true…"

Sam and Dean headed straight for the police chief, but Kayle continued to hold the police tape up for Elizabeth to pass under. Elizabeth didn't move.

"Don't tell me you're squeamish?" Kayle said, incredulously. "You're a doctor, Betsy. Are you kidding me?"

 _That's the problem with small towns_ – Elizabeth thought – _everyone knows the nicknames you'd rather forget._

"I'm not squeamish, Kayle" – _I could call you KaylieMac, see how you like me bringing that up, but I'm going to be the adult_ – "I'm just not used to seeing bodies like this." Elizabeth answered. She waved her hand to indicate the dingy little alleyway, the garish lights, the gaggle of onlookers who were materializing at an alarming rate. Somehow bodies on an examining table under harsh fluorescent lights seemed much less intimidating than this. But Kayle had her by the arm now, tugging her into the taped off area, and Elizabeth wasn't about to let Kayle McClanahan believe that she couldn't handle herself. She ducked under the tape and followed Kayle to where Chief Hutchison stood.

"…didn't know anything useful," the chief was saying as Kayle and Elizabeth arrived to stand in the little semi-circle gathered around him. He nodded to Elizabeth. "Glad to see you're already in the loop, Dr. Ogle. We can get these bodies straight over to your office once we finish getting photos."

Elizabeth tried to look nonchalant as she nodded back. One of the officers was at that moment occupied, mere feet away, snapping pictures with an obscenely bright flash, and Elizabeth had to force herself to keep her eyes focused on the chief. She most decidedly did NOT want to look at the bodies, but her gaze was drawn inexorably in that direction. A camera flash suddenly lit the scene, and Elizabeth saw everything she had been trying not to look at.

The bodies lay side by side on the asphalt, skin dry and leathery and pulled taut against the bones. It looked like someone had visited the Egyptian section of a museum, stolen two mummies, dressed them in modern day clothes, and then dumped them there with the garbage when they tired of them. Except that these bodies did not look peaceful like pictures of mummies that Elizabeth had seen. They were not folded neatly into positions of eternal rest. No, these bodies were twisted painfully - feet pointed, arms stretched over the heads with ropes still binding the wrists together, faces contorted in fear and turned away from some unseen danger. Elizabeth swallowed convulsively.

"I'll get over there now and get my office opened up," she said abruptly. Then she turned and hurried away toward her car.

"Apparently, dead bodies in the wild spook Dr. Ogle," Kayle said with the tiniest of smirks.

Chief Hutchison just shrugged.

"You two want to talk to anyone here?" he asked looking over at Sam and Dean. Sam looked at Dean inquiringly, but Dean just shook his head.

"I think you're right, Chief, no one here knows anything else," Dean responded on behalf of the FBI. "Maybe we can find out something when the bodies are examined."

Sam and Dean left as Chief Hutchison was instructing his officers on what to do next. The bodies would be transported to Dr. Ogle's office in the ambulance, and he would meet the FBI agents there.

"Elizabeth knows we're hunters," Sam started the conversation the second he and Dean were in the car.

"What the hell, man? Who's Elizabeth?"

"Dr. Ogle. Her uncle was Kelvin Caughron."

"Son of a bitch…Kelvin, really?" Dean said as he turned the key in the Impala's ignition. As they drove to the office, Sam told him everything that had happened when the doctor showed up at the motel room. Dean shared Sam's opinion of Kelvin.

"Dumbass…" he murmured. "I thought Kelvin was smarter than that."

"Yeah, so did I," Sam responded. "I don't know. Maybe he planned to do better by her and just never got a chance."

"So – we have a civilian who knows just enough to be dangerous. How's that change how we handle the case?"

"It doesn't," Sam answered a little too quickly. "We do what we have to do and hope she's smart enough to stay out of the way."

"Yeah, right," Dean said. "Don't think you're fooling anyone, Sammy."

"What? Fooling anyone about what?"

"That you don't care what happens to Elizabeth," Dean put an exaggerated emphasis on the name.

"So, because I'm calling her by her first name, I must have a thing for her, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, Sam, that is exactly what I'm saying."

"You are insane…where do you get…" Sam stopped when he noticed the grin growing on his brother's face. Obviously, Dean had gotten exactly the rise out of Sam that he had been looking for.

"Dude, you are too easy today…"

"Shut up. Fine, how are we going to handle the case differently?"

"We have to remember that she's not a hunter," Dean said. "She knows a few things that's all. We don't tell her anything that we wouldn't tell anyone else. And I am serious about that part."

"I hear you."

They had been sitting in the parking lot of the office for a few minutes when the ambulance pulled up followed by a squad car. Neither were using theirs lights or sirens. No need to worry about getting the bodies anywhere fast.

Dean, Sam, Chief Hutchison, and Elizabeth remained in the examination room after the EMTs had deposited the bodies and left. Elizabeth felt much more sure-footed now that she was back on her own turf. The body they were currently gathered around looked like a problem to be solved, and not some sort of ghastly vision. Although the tortured posture of the remains was still fairly disturbing.

The problem to be solved was identifying the remains. Neither of the victims was carrying any form of ID, the police officers had checked for that on the scene. Both bodies appeared to be males based on the articles of clothing hanging from their wasted frames, but neither had any kind of jewelry on. Plenty of tattoos were visible on both bodies, and probably more hidden under the clothes, but the tattoos were nearly indistinguishable on the desiccated skin.

Chief Hutchison did not relish the thought of dragging family members in to examine clothes, even less did he like the idea of asking them to peer at the tattoos on the shrunken remains.

"Any idea where to start?" Chief Hutchison asked no one in particular.

"I can begin looking for anything identifiable on the bodies," Elizabeth answered. "The tattoos might be helpful. And I could check the dental records of the missing persons. I'm assuming that's where you think I should start – males recently gone missing?"

Chief Hutchison nodded.

"Yep, I'd say that would be as good a start as any. I'll get the files, got pictures in them you could maybe match up with the tattoo placement. And I'll see if I can get…"

He broke off as Dean stepped forward and peered closely at one of the hands.

"Any of them work as mechanics?" Dean asked. He pointed to the hand he had been examining. "Even as dried up as that, you can still see some heavy-duty oil stains on that hand."

"Tom Lacey and David Black both worked on cars," the chief answered. "Let me get a couple of officers on that and see if I can roust up their dental records first."

Chief Hutchison moved around to look at the other body.

"Don't see any stains on this one. See if you can figure anything else out here, Sherlock," he said to Dean in a not unfriendly manner. He left then to retrieve the police files and assign officers to get dental records.

As soon as Elizabeth, Sam, and Dean were alone in the examination room, Sam explained what he had told Dean about Elizabeth and her family.

"Kelvin was a good hunter," Dean said. "I'm sorry for your loss. But I can't believe that he..." Dean was clearly itching to tell Elizabeth how irresponsible her uncle had been to give her just the paltry education that he had, how irresponsible he had been to stay in touch with her at all, actually. But a fierce shake of Sam's head behind Elizabeth's back told Dean not to get into it.

"…never told us that he had a niece that he was in contact with." Dean finished awkwardly.

"I know what you were going to say," Elizabeth answered the unspoken accusations against her uncle with a sad smile and a small shrug. "Maybe telling me about what he did wasn't the best idea. But, the truth is, I was all that he had."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Dean woke, bleary-eyed, to the faintest smell of coffee. He squinted at the bedside clock and read 8:18 in faint green LED lights. They hadn't gotten back to the motel until nearly 4:00 in the morning. Several more hours of sleep would have been really good.

 _In my own bed_ – Dean amended in his thoughts, then winced inwardly – _what kind of geezer am I turning into?_

It had been a very late night, but at least they had managed to identify the two victims. The first one, the one whose oil-stained hands Dean had noticed, had matched the general tattoo layout and dental records of David Black. The second body had helpfully had a tattoo that covered almost its entire chest and had matched the pictures and dental records for Randy Phillips, another of the missing persons.

Chief Hutchison planned to bring in family to take a look at the clothing that had been on the bodies and some carefully edited photos of the victims. That, along with Dr. Ogle's dental record examination, would serve as the conclusive identification.

"I'd rather not have them see the bodies in this state, if I can help it," Chief Hutchison had explained. "Can't hardly tell anything from them, anyway. Only that they didn't die easy." The local mortician had been called out in the middle of the night and assured the Chief that the bodies could be made to look somewhat more presentable, at least when fully dressed and laid carefully in a satin-lined coffin. Sam and Dean had exchanged quizzical looks at this discussion. In their estimation, burning the bodies would have been a lot easier.

Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and propelled himself to a sitting position. He had to find the source of that coffee smell – he prayed that it was close by.

"Mornin'," Sam greeted him. "I got coffee."

"I take back everything I've ever said about you," Dean mumbled as he dragged himself to the table. He sat heavily in the chair and gratefully took a sip of the hot brew. He grimaced, shuddered, and then took several more sips. "You are a hero."

"You're welcome."

All conversation was then paused until both had cleaned up, were sitting in a booth in the local diner, and had several bites of breakfast under their belts – coping methods 101 for spending ungodly amounts of time traveling and working with your brother.

"Elizabeth is expecting to be in her office by 10:00," Sam reported from a text message on his phone. "Says she canceled morning appointments to give the bodies a final exam before she passes them on to creepy Mr. Mortician – her words, not mine."

"We've got some seriously different victims here, man," Dean said. "Do we really think the briquette and the mummies are related?"

"They have to be," Sam said. "We just have to figure out how. I hope there's something on the bodies that we missed last night."

"Yeah, like 'If Found, Please Return to Blah, blah blah' – now that would be helpful…"

When they arrived at the doctor's office, Sam and Dean found that Officer McClanahan was already there. She had been sent to see if there was any new information, and also to see when the bodies would be available for release. David Black's father and Randy Phillips' aunt and uncle had been to the station already that morning. They had all agreed that the clothing belonged to their respective relatives.

The pictures had been a little more difficult. Chief Hutchison had met with both families together, thinking that it might be easier to hear the news at the same time. David's father had just stared at the pictures as though they were some sort of ancient scrip that he was completely unable to decipher. Randy's aunt had simply cried. But Randy's uncle had been vocal enough for all of them.

"What the hell is this supposed to be? You're telling me this is a picture of my nephew's body?" he had fairly bellowed. "He's only been missing for three damn weeks – this looks like something you'd dig up out of the sand from a thousand years ago!"

Chief Hutchison had sympathized, explained that the official cause of death was "acute dehydration" and starvation, and promised that the bodies would be available for burial by that afternoon.

"Most lame ass excuse for cause of death I've ever given," he had groused to Kayle once the victims' families were gone. "But I couldn't tell 'em we had no idea what caused the corpses to look like that. Get over to the doctor's and see when they're gonna be finished poking and prodding at them. And see if they know anything more at all," he had instructed Kayle.

When Dean and Sam entered the office, Dr. Ogle repeated the news that she had just been explaining to Kayle.

"The material we found under Randy Phillips' nails, and the indications of abrasions and bleeding on the fingertips – I think I might know what it is," Elizabeth said. "It's partly fibers from the ropes, but it's also bits of rock. I think he was scratching at a rocky surface – scratching pretty desperately."

"So my arms are tied up like this…" Dean threw his arms up over his head and crossed the wrists. He wriggled his fingertips. "And I'm scratching like crazy trying to get free…"

Kayle and Elizabeth both looked taken aback at Dean's unorthodox behavior. Clearly they had expected a more solemn demeanor from a murder investigation. Sam turned to give Dean a suppressive frown, but when he saw his brother's posture, his movement was arrested by a sudden thought.

"A cave. They were tied up in a cave," Sam exclaimed.

Dean dropped his arms. He gave the two women a modest smile in regards to his and Sam's detective methods.

"The only problem is, we don't have caves around here. Not big enough to hide bodies in, at least." Kayle's words wiped the smile off Dean's face.

"What about the national park Chief Hutchison mentioned – the one where the hiker had gone missing?" Sam asked.

"Big South Fork," Kayle responded, shaking her head. "That's just right next door to us. But there aren't cave formations there. I mean, there are lots of rocky crevices and overhangs, places like that. But there aren't caves. The nearest real caves are two or three hours north or south of here."

"Still," Sam said. "It would make sense for the victims to be held somewhere in a wilderness area like that, somewhere away from other people. Maybe it is something like an overhang?" He turned to Dean with a questioning look.

"Does make sense," Dean said. "A remote area, rocky but not necessarily a cave."

"So you think someone has been holding Randy and David since they went missing, somewhere in the Big South?" Kayle asked her question to both Dean and Sam, but she didn't wait for a response. Her look of confused inquiry suddenly changed to one of horrified realization. "Do you think the same guy has taken all of our missing persons?"

"We do have to consider that all of the missing persons may potentially have been victims." Sam responded in his best imitation of FBI agent-speak. _Including Clemmer, although I'm sure you wouldn't connect that –_

Elizabeth made the connection, though. She felt sick. It had been easy as long as they had been working out the identity of the bodies to push aside thoughts of the bigger picture. But now those thoughts came rushing back with Kayle's mention of the other missing persons. Someone – something – was taking people from their little town. Were there already other withered bodies out there, other gnawed bones?

Sam noticed the despairing look on Elizabeth's face. _She knows it's worse than Kayle could possibly imagine_ –

"But how does that even happen?" Kayle asked incredulously. She gestured at the bodies. "How does someone do that to a body?"

"We're not sure," Dean answered. "But we have seen this before – remains like this."

He felt, more than saw, the shift in Sam's stance beside him. Apparently, Sam didn't remember. Dean didn't blame him if he had forgotten. It had been almost ten years ago that they had worked that case, and quite a lot had happened to them in the interim. Anyway, in that decade old case Sam hadn't been the one who had seen the bodies in a sort of waking nightmare. Only Dean had actually experienced that. So last night, he had immediately recalled seeing such remains. It had just taken him a while to sort through his memories to find where the previous sighting had been. Now, he was absolutely certain.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Sam leaned back in the uncomfortable motel chair, arching his back and stretching his arms behind his head. He yawned loudly. They had been poring over books and the internet for hours, searching for any information, any lore about their suspected culprit. Sam's body and brain both felt exhausted.

"I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere, man," his words came out garbled halfway through his yawn.

"Yeah, what you just said," Dean responded, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. Normally, he would have flaked out of research long before this, leaving Sam to finish the part of the hunt that he was better at. Dean had never considered himself the academic of the duo. But he had persisted in this instance, feeling a certain obligation to defend his theory.

"You still sure about this?" Sam asked.

"I'm sure. I know that's what it was, Sammy. It took a while to remember where I'd seen them, but I can picture those bodies just as clear as day."

Dean was convinced that they were dealing with a djinn or some offshoot of the djinn family. The dried husks of bodies that had been found looked just like the ones he had seen all those years ago when he had been captured by a djinn.

The legends of djinn, or genies, who granted wishes had turned out to be not entirely accurate. What the djinn actually did was put its victims in a trance where they imagined themselves living lives based on their deepest wishes. And while they lived in that dream world, blissfully unaware as the djinn's magic poisoned their mind, the djinn fed on them in the real world, sucking the life out of them.

For Dean, his wish had been a life where his mother was still alive and he and Sam had never become hunters. But even while caught in the djinn's trance, his hunter's mind had fought to assert itself. Images from reality had continually disturbed his peaceful, imaginary existence. He had seen visions of another hostage – a pitiable, ghostlike young girl – appearing in the most unlikely of places. And he had also glimpsed the corpses of two victims that the djinn had already feasted on. That horrifying sight was exactly like the victims they were dealing with now.

The problem was, nothing other than the appearance of the two latest bodies matched anything he and Sam knew about djinn. Djinn were found in ruins, not natural areas. And they disposed of their victims carefully. They certainly didn't throw them out in public places where they were sure to be found. Add in Clemmer Adams' public appearance and gnawed bones, and the case made even less sense. Djinn weren't able to take on the appearance of their victims, and they didn't eat human flesh.

Sam and Dean were stumped, and exhausted, and apparently starved if the noise that Dean's stomach suddenly made was any indication.

"We've got to get out of here," Dean announced, standing up. "Get some food, I'm starving."

"I noticed. Aren't you even a little bit concerned that people are out there searching where this thing might be?" Sam asked.

Kayle had reported their suspicions to Chief Hutchison about the victims being held in a cave. Chief Hutchison had in turn talked to the Chief Ranger in the Big South Fork National Park, and park rangers had been sent out to look for signs of suspicious activity. Lacking any actual caves, they were concentrating on areas with rocky walls or overhangs that might be easily accessible from roads through the park.

"No," Dean scoffed. "They have those rangers looking in places just right off the beaten path. They're not going to find anything." What he and Sam knew that the park rangers didn't was the potential strength of the predator they were dealing with. Djinn or something else, supernatural creatures were stronger than humans. And that meant it was probably taking its victims somewhere that humans could not easily follow.

"Alright, let's get something to eat," Sam agreed. He stood and stretched and headed out the motel door into the parking lot.

"Be right there…" Dean called.

He was almost to the bathroom when he heard the roar of an engine revving and the squealing of tires. He turned just in time to hear Sam's surprised yell followed by a loud thud. By the time Dean reached the door, the car was tearing off down the road and Sam lay in the parking lot, not moving.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean raced to his brother and fell to his knees. He held a hand against Sam's neck. There was a pulse. Dean began to quickly scan over Sam's body for an inventory of injuries. No visible bones – blood in lots of places, but nothing gushing – breathing shallow but even. Blood behind Sam's ear was the most troubling thing. It looked like he might have been thrown into the bumper of one of the cars in the parking lot. Dean looked around frantically. A couple of people had come out from other rooms and from the front office.

"Call 911!" Dean hollered, and a man hurried back into the office to place the call.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" No response.

Dean woke instantly when someone entered the hospital room. He had been halfway dozing on and off throughout the evening, slumped in one torturous hospital chair while his feet were propped up in another, as nurses and technicians and doctors bustled in and out. Following the ambulance to the nearest hospital, some thirty miles away; the nerve-wracking wait for tests and assessments in the ER; and everything that had been required to actually get Sam admitted to a room had worn him out. The good news was that his brother's list of injuries seemed to comprise nothing that he hadn't had before: abrasions, concussion, internal bruising – Sam had survived a hell of a lot worse. The bad news was that all of those injuries sustained in a single instant were apparently a little much for Sam's body to handle. He still had not regained consciousness.

Dr. Mallicoat, the physician who seemed to be in charge of the case, walked over to the bed and peered at the machine readouts. Dean sat up straight and put both feet on the floor as the doctor turned to give him an update.

"Vital signs all strong. And no signs of internal bleeding, so that's good," Dr. Mallicoat reported. "The swelling from the concussion seems to be relatively minimal."

"Then why isn't he awake yet?" Dean asked as he stood.

"He did sustain some very serious injuries, Agent Van Zant. I can't say exactly when he'll be awake. Only that I do expect he'll awaken."

"Yeah, well I expect he will too – I just wish he'd hurry up and do it so we could get back to our damn job." Dean used every ounce of anxiety in the pit of his stomach to sound as aggravated as possible about a partner stupid enough to get himself hit by a car. He wasn't sure, the past few hours were a blur, but he feared that his behavior since the accident might have strained credulity for an FBI partner relationship.

"Agent Medlocke did have some interesting anomalies in his x-rays and tests…" Dr. Mallicoat put the comment out there casually and waited to see how Dean might respond.

"Well, I think he's led a pretty interesting life. Maybe you can ask his family about it when they get here," Dean answered. He couldn't even recall everything that might show up on an x-ray or in bloodwork, on either of them. Better leave that subject for Agent Medlock's fictitious family speeding to them from Seattle, Washington. It was the furthest place that had come to Dean's mind when confronted with the question of next of kin. He wished now that he had said Hawaii.

"I'll do that," Dr. Mallicoat said. There was an undercurrent of suspicion in his tone. "Why don't I have someone give you a call as soon as your partner regains consciousness?"

"I'll stay," Dean responded a little too quickly. "It's policy. Policy says you stay with your partner in situations like this." He could hear himself saying too much – _you sound like a moron_ – and took a deep breathe to stop himself. "I'm sorry, it's just been a long time since I've eaten. I think I'm a little punch drunk. I'll just…I'll just stay."

Dr. Mallicoat gave him a long, appraising look, and Dean was too tired to hide his worry and fear anymore. _He knows I'm lying._ _Maybe he'll try to throw me out. Well, he can try._ Whatever the doctor saw in Dean's face apparently convinced him that Dean was relatively harmless.

"I'll have a nurse bring you some food," Dr. Mallicoat said.

"Thank you," Dean sat down heavily. "Thanks, doc." He watched as the doctor left the room, then let his gaze roam over the numerous tubes and machines attached to Sam's body.

 _Come on, Sammy. You've got to wake up. We've got to get back to the hunt, man_ –

Kayle came into the room so quietly that Dean was startled when she spoke.

"They found the car abandoned about twenty miles outside town. It was reported stolen from Winfield."

"No way to tell who was driving, I guess?" Dean asked.

"No. No clue about that. We talked to people at the motel. No one saw the car hit him and no one saw the car in the parking lot before it happened. Have you asked Agent Medlocke? Did he get any look at the driver?"

"He hasn't been awake, so I haven't had a chance to ask him."

Kayle stood for a minute looking at Sam's motionless body. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Doc says he is. He's tough. A hit-and-run isn't going to keep him off the case for long."

"You think the accident had to do with the investigation?" Kayle made it more of a statement than a question. She came around the end of the hospital bed and took a seat in the chair next to Dean, a look of concern and confusion on her face.

Dean didn't respond immediately. He knew there had to be a link between the hunt and Sam getting plowed down in a motel parking lot. How could there not be a connection? But the car just added one more layer of confusion to an already confusing case. Had someone actually been driving it, or had it been controlled by some kind of spirit? They had definitely seen that happen before – spirits controlling inanimate objects, using the objects to do the spirit's dirty work. But djinn weren't spirits, and spirits didn't leave husks of victims around that looked like the work of a djinn, and djinn didn't get their victims by hitting them with a car and putting them in the hospital, and he and Sam had never encountered a spirit or a djinn that ate human flesh... The more Dean considered the question, the more his thoughts began to jumble.

"Yes, I think the hit-and-run wasn't an accident, and I think it had something to do with the case. I just don't know what." Dean said.

"I'm sure Agent Medlocke will be able to give us some help as soon as he wakes up." Kayle said. "He surely saw something about the driver." She laid one hand gently on top of Dean's hand. "Hey, he's going to be okay."

"Thanks, yeah, I know he is." Dean said with more assurance than he felt. "But it looks like the big dummy isn't waking up until he makes me sleep on a hospital chair all night."

Kayle stayed a little longer discussing the case. There really wasn't much to report on, no new developments and, thankfully, no new victims had turned up. She left when a nurse came in with a tray of food for Dean, promising to check in the next morning.

"Alright, Sammy." Dean said as he kicked his feet back up in the chair opposite him and looked with distaste at a bland piece of chicken. "I'm eating hospital food now – I hope you're happy."

He ate every bite of the tasteless food because he was ravenous, then stood up and checked all of the monitors. Nothing seemed to have changed, and Sam still hadn't moved. Dean sat back down. He tried to remember how many times he had sat like this, worrying that this time their luck really had run out. He gave a small, grim laugh at the idea of any part of their lives being considered "lucky". But they always managed to keep going. Only this time, who could say, maybe Sam wouldn't.

Unwelcomed thoughts crept like black shadows into Dean's mind – thoughts of losing his brother, thoughts of the future that lay ahead with the Darkness determined to destroy all of creation. He tried to push the thoughts away, tried to shove them down and concentrate on the current case and on when Sam would be up to getting back to work. But it was hard to fight the dragging weight of despair when his brother was lying in a hospital bed, when their best friend had given up hope to such an extent that he had allowed himself to be possessed by Lucifer. The Darkness was so much more powerful than anything they had faced before.

 _God, I can't do this alone. I know this is my fault, and I'm sorry. We lost Cas. Please don't let me lose Sam, too, please -_

It was around midnight when Dean was awakened by sounds coming from the nearby bed. He sat up immediately then blinked in that direction, trying to focus. Sam was twitching and rolling his head in an agitated manner. He began trying to move, to roll over or sit up. Dean stood and leaned over his brother. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, both to quiet his movements and to shake him just a bit.

"Sam…hey, Sammy…Sammy…"

Finally, Sam opened his eyes. Dean felt an ache leave his chest that he hadn't even realized had been there.

"Dean? Wh-where?" Sam looked around blearily. "Am I…?" He tried to clear his throat, his voice low and hoarse. "Am I in the hospital? What happened?"

"Yeah, you're in the hospital. But you're fine…you're fine," Dean smiled weakly. "Do you remember getting hit?"

Sam raised his arm and gingerly felt the lump on his head. He winced and nodded.

"Yeah, I do. How long have I been out?"

He was dismayed to hear that he had been unconscious for nearly nine hours, but insisted on trying to sit up immediately. He raised up and swayed for just a moment, Dean hovering next to him. Then, when Sam seemed to have steadied himself, Dean lowered the railing for him and Sam swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed. He grimaced at the attachments dangling from his arms. Sam plucked the oxygen monitor off of his finger, yanked the blood pressure cuff off of his arm, and then pulled the IV needle out and tossed it aside.  
"Where are my clothes? Let's get out of here."

"Damn right," Dean said approvingly.

It wasn't quite that easy, though. They had barely gotten Sam wrestled into his clothes when a cadre of nurses bustled into the room in answer to the emergency call of the monitors. Deprived of an oxygen level and blood pressure to track, the machines were frantically announcing the patient's imminent death, and the nurses were insistent that Sam lay back down and be re-tethered at once.

What ensued next was a minor tug-of-war as one nurse tried to talk Dean into leaving the room, while two other nurses tried to force Sam back into bed. Over many protests, and with a lot of help from Dean, who was frankly carrying a large portion of Sam's weight as he leaned into Dean's shoulder; they made their way out of the room and eventually out of the hospital. Dean and Sam both gave sighs of relief when they were finally breathing the free air of the parking lot.

"Come on, man. We do need to get you back to bed," Dean said. He put his arm around Sam's waist and practically carried him to the Impala. Sam fell asleep on the ride back to the motel, but he awakened easily enough when they stopped and staggered, with Dean's help, into the room, barely making it to the bed. Dean pulled Sam's shoes off, threw a blanket over him, pulled off his own shoes, and collapsed on his own bed.

 _Thank you_ – was his last thought.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The bedside clock read 7:33 when Dean awoke, and for a moment he was disoriented. Was it nighttime? He sat up a bit creakily and squinted his eyes against the brightness showing around the edges of the thick motel curtains. Definitely morning.

 _Wow. That is like six solid hours of sleep. I must have been nearly dead_ – suddenly remembering, he turned with concern toward Sam's bed only to find it empty. Then he heard a flush come from the bathroom.

 _Well, I guess that's a good sign_ –

Sam walked slowly back into the room and nodded at Dean. His face was pale and drawn looking, and he was definitely moving slow. A small groan escaped as he sat back down on his bed.

"You look like 10 miles of bad road, man."

"Yeah? Well, I feel even worse than that. But, on the plus side, I'm starving."

Within a half-hour, Dean had cleaned up, gone out, and returned with an egg white omelet, whole-wheat toast, and a fruit cup for Sam. He had just started to take a bite out of his own sausage biscuit when his phone rang.

"Chief Hutchison," Dean mouthed to Sam as he answered. "Yes sir…I see…I'll be right there."

He hung up his phone and regretfully laid his biscuit aside.

"Another body turned up. Time to get the monkey suit back on." Dean rose to put on his FBI attire, and Sam pushed his food aside as if to follow him.

"Give me just a minute…" Sam started, but Dean was already shaking his head.

"Don't be an idiot, Sammy. You can barely make it from the bed to the table. You're not going anywhere. You're going to stay here and sleep and get your lazy ass healed up." Sam didn't even bother to argue.

"Hey!" Dean stuck his head around the edge of the bathroom door. "I haven't even asked – did you see who was driving the car that hit you?"

Sam shook his head.

"I don't think so. I can't remember it if I did. "

Dean shrugged in response. Maybe Sam would remember more later. They'd just have to see what the latest victim looked like. He came back into the room after a few moments already tugging at his tie to loosen it a bit.

"I'll let you know what I find – gnawed up bones or King Tut. Actually, I wouldn't even be surprised if this one was missing its heart."

The body was missing its heart. In fact, it was missing everything below the neck other than a few bones that were still clinging together with bits of connective tissue. The neck and head were still intact, though, dead eyes open and staring up into the bright morning sun. Dean turned away from the grisly sight after a quick study of the remains.

The body had been found by Marshall Pitts, an older gentleman, lying in open ground behind his barn.

"I let the dogs out this morning," he explained again, for Dean's benefit, "and they made a beeline over to this spot. Didn't stop anywhere else or anything. Well, that wasn't like them, so I come over to see what they were after. And I found him just layin' there, just like that." Mr. Pitts' voice broke, and he paused for a moment, scowling into the distance until he could speak again. "I jerked them dogs back inside and called 911. I didn't know if I should move him or what I should do, so I just stood out here 'til the sheriff come."

"You did the right thing, Mr. Pitts." Dean assured him. "If you want to take your wife and wait inside until they finish the pictures and load the body that might be the best thing." Mrs. Pitts was hovering on the periphery of the throng of activity, clearly wanting to support Mr. Pitts in any way she could but not wanting to get close enough to see the body herself. Mr. Pitts nodded with relief and gratefully hurried away from the scene. Mrs. Pitts had her arm tucked in his as they walked back to the house.

"One of our missing persons?" Dean turned away from his study of the elderly couple and asked the question to Chief Hutchison. He noticed that the Chief looked almost as stricken as Mr. Pitts.

"Brandon Coontz," was the reply. "One of our missing. Just moved into the area in the last couple years, guess that's why Mr. Pitts didn't recognize him. I recognize him right enough, though. Had a few dealings with him."

Pictures of the crime scene had been made and notes taken. There was nothing more to do but load what was left of the body into the ambulance and transport it to Dr. Ogle's office.

"The rangers haven't turned up a damn thing." Chief Hutchison said. "It's a right enough theory and all, holding people in the national park, but this is getting ridiculous. Can't no one person be hiding that many people and dropping bodies around the county like this – first two mummies at the strip mall, and now this out here on the edge of town. And this body's even worse than those were. What the hell is going on here, Agent Van Zant?"

"I wish I knew, Chief." Dean answered. "This isn't following any patterns my partner and I have seen before." _Actually, it's following too many patterns we've seen before, not to mention your Crispy Critter, Clemmer_ –

"How is your partner anyway? He still in the hospital?"

"No, he's been released. Just needs some time to rest and recuperate."

Chief Hutchison was pulled aside at that moment to discuss how to load the remains for transport, and Dean walked around the area a little looking for any sign of how the body had been brought to the location. He found nothing, though. Not that he had really expected to. The randomness of the attacks and the locations of the bodies were just more things in this hunt that didn't make any sense. Here they were, back to another victim that looked like it had been munched on by a ghoul, but there had been no reports of Brandon Coontz being seen before the body turned up. The victims just weren't adding up to anything that he and Sam could understand.

Dean looked up to see Kayle motioning to him. He walked over to where she stood by her squad car.

"I've thought of something," she said excitedly as soon as Dean came close enough for her to speak in low tones. "There's a place in the Big South Fork called Devil's Den. It's not really a cave, but it's an awful lot like one. It's a cleft between two rock faces, but it's so close at the top that it might as well be enclosed. It's about the length of a football field, and it's got pockets off of it that are like little caves."

"Haven't the rangers checked it out already? Sounds like the first place they'd look."

"No, and they won't check it out, either. You can't even get to it without going down a seriously steep climb, or rappelling in. I used to go there with a group of friends when we were in our teens and 20's."

"Then why do you think anyone would be there?" Dean asked, making a mental note that it definitely sounded worthy of investigation. "You really think someone is hauling bodies up and down a climb like that?"

Kayle fixed Dean with a steady gaze. Her look seemed to hold some kind of significance – like she was trying to tell him something without actually telling him.

"Dr. Ogle said that you would probably want to check this place out." Kayle said.

"Dr. Ogle said?" Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why would Dr. Ogle think we would want to do that?"

"She said you would want to see it since you might be looking for something a little…" Kayle paused, searching for the right words. "…out of the ordinary."

At that, Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Don't move." Dean walked briskly over to where the Chief was standing. He gave the Chief a quickly trumped up excuse about why he and Officer McClanahan needed to leave immediately and consult with Agent Medlocke. Then he promised to be in touch and walked away just as briskly, leaving Chief Hutchison looking more than a little perplexed.

"Follow me." Dean practically growled the words as he passed Kayle and climbed into the Impala. Kayle jumped into her patrol car and followed.

Sam was struggling to eat the rest of his breakfast. His initial hunger had quickly abandoned him, and every bite was simply forced down in the hopes that it would speed his recovery. He ate until he started to feel sick and then decided he had better lie back down. He stood up and swayed dizzily, grabbing the back of the chair for support.

 _This concussion sucks_ – _I'm going to hurl_. He steadied himself with several deep breaths and then made his way to the bathroom sink. They had gotten out of the hospital last night with an antibiotic, anti-nausea medication, and a strong painkiller. Sam took one of each. He washed his face, rubbed it roughly with the small hand towel, and looked at himself in the mirror. _Dean was right. You look like death warmed over_ –

He walked back to the bed, eased himself down, and was asleep again within moments. He didn't get to sleep for long, though. Dean slamming into the room startled him so badly that he reached for the gun under his pillow but was too dazed to get a hand on it.

"Wha..?" was all Sam was able to get out.

"Oh, I'll tell you what, Sammy," Dean started in immediately. "Your little doctor friend apparently has a really big mouth, that's what."

Sam sat up, still blinking and trying to orient himself. He finally determined that he had been asleep about an hour – and that Dean was upset about something. Sam coughed and shook his head to try to clear it. The resulting lightning bolt of pain made him wish that he hadn't. He focused as hard as he could on his brother.

"What is the matter, Dean?"

"Kayle knows a location in the national park that sounds like it might be our place." Dean sat down on the opposite bed. "Because she's been tipped off by Dr. Ogle that we might be looking for something, in her words, 'out of the ordinary'." Here, Dean made air quotes in such an exaggerated and exasperated manner that Sam could not keep himself from smiling.

"It's not funny, man."

"I know, I know." Sam let the weight of what Dean was telling him sink in for a bit. "How much do you think she knows?"

"I don't know. We were just there where the body was found when she pulled me over…"

"Another mummy?" Sam interjected.

"What? No, no – definitely no mummy this time. Another of the missing persons, though – Brandon Coontz. Here, hang on a minute." Dean walked over to the table where the files were stacked and riffled through them until he found the one he was looking for. He opened it and held it out for Sam to see. "Take a good look at the head, because that is all that was left of Mr. Coontz."

"All that was left…?"

"Yeah. Like neck down, just a bunch of bones barely strung together."

They were interrupted by a tentative knock on the motel door. Kayle stuck her head in and looked at them. Dean reluctantly waved her in.

"Good to see you up, Sam."

"Thanks."

"Alright, enough chitchat. You," Dean pointed at Kayle, "sit down and tell me exactly where this place is that you're talking about."

Kayle took a seat at the table. For Sam's benefit, she explained again about Devil's Den – where it was, what it looked like, how big it was. Sam was nodding when she finished.

"You're right," he said, looking at Dean, "sounds like it might be what we're looking for. But don't forget, we still don't know who we're looking for."

Sam put the tiniest inflection on the word 'who', reminding Dean that they still had no idea what type of monster they were dealing with. The problem with not knowing what you were going after was that you also didn't know how to kill it.

"Trust me, I didn't forget." Dean said. "But whoever it is, they're dropping bodies fast, and they're getting worse. I've got to go check this out."

"Give me a day, Dean. Then we'll go." Sam said. There was a note of pleading in his voice. He knew that, once Dean made his mind up on a course of action, he was almost impossible to stop.

"I can go with you." Both Sam and Dean turned to stare at Kayle as though she were a piece of furniture that had suddenly spoken. Undeterred, she continued. "I can be backup for Dean."

She saw them both begin to shake their heads and hurried on with her argument.

"I know exactly where to go. I know exactly how to get there. I can even get the rappelling gear." Both were still shaking their heads. "I won't get in the way. I'll just be there in case of emergency."

Dean was scowling, but he was no longer shaking his head. Clearly, he was starting to consider letting Kayle go along.

"You can't be serious," Sam said. "It would be insane to take her with you. Give me one day, man. I know I'll be able to go."

"Come here," Dean said to him, and nodded his head in the direction of the motel room's bathroom sink. He and Sam walked over just out of earshot and immediately started into an intense argument involving a lot of fierce whispering, a great many hand gestures, and several glances in Kayle's direction. It was obvious that Dean was going to win the debate. Sam was wearing out quickly, due both to his weakened state and to Dean's sheer stubbornness. When Sam tottered a bit and put his hand out against the bathroom mirror to steady himself, it was over. Dean waved his arms to end the discussion.

"No, just no. You are going to go back to bed. Kayle is going to show me where this Devil's Den is and stand guard for me – far away – while I check it out." Dean looked pointedly at Kayle as he said the last part, as if daring her to challenge him, but she simply nodded in agreement.

"I don't like it. I don't think it's a good idea." Sam still tried to argue even as he eased back over to his bed and sat down gingerly.

"Your objection is duly noted."

Kayle left to gather gear. Dean changed back into regular clothes, packed his own gear, and then made a run to the nearest convenience store.

"Alright, Sammy. You've got water, Gatorade, and protein bars. Drink a lot…" Dean paused, thinking it through. "…maybe that's for the flu? I'm sure it's good for concussions, too. Anyway, just concentrate on getting better."

"It's a bad idea."

"I'll just scope it out. I promise I won't engage. We just have to know what we're up against."

And he and Kayle were gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Dean, Cas, and Crowley were all beginning to fear that the Mark was not going to allow the spell to work. The spell, taken from the Book of the Damned, was intended to lock Dean away forever, entombed on the Dark Throne. It was the way he and Sam had chosen to save the world both from the murderous power of the Mark of Cain and from the all-consuming Darkness that would be released if the Mark were ever removed. Dean had resisted the plan for as long as he could, certain that they would find another way; they always did. But as the Mark's power continued to grow and threatened to overtake him, he finally conceded that they had run out of options.

It wasn't that Dean was opposed to being locked away, or even to dying for that matter. He was more than willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. No, the part of the spell that was hardest for Dean to swallow was the sacrifice of a family member – the only family member Dean had left. The thought of having to be the one to kill Sam had sickened Dean.

But Sam hadn't had any reservations about the sacrifice and had actually fought to convince Dean that the plan needed to be executed before the Mark became too strong. Whatever it took to save his big brother and humanity, Sam would play his part. In the end, Dean had finally given in, with his own stipulations. When it was done, Sam's soul had to be delivered safely to heaven. And he had to be reunited with Jessica, the woman he had loved and intended to share his life with.

Cas had given Dean his word that these requests would be fulfilled. And so, Dean had killed his own brother – the person he loved most in the world and that he had spent his whole life protecting. By Dean's own hand, Sam's blood had flowed over the Dark Throne until the life had drained out of him. And then, after he was certain of Sam's destination, Dean had given Sam's body a proper hunter burial atop a burning pyre.

The final requirement of the spell then was blood sacrifice from Dean to the point where he would be near death when the curse was completed, and here was where the trouble had begun. That part of the spell had to be performed by Cas and Crowley over several days, so they had been careful. Dean had sat on the hideous Throne just as Sam had, his blood wetting the same wood, but only for a short time each day. Over several days, the cumulative effect would be to reduce his body to a state of near death. Only then could he be eternally bound.

Though Dean sat in surrender, at peace with his impending fate, the Mark had different ideas. Dean's body was not progressing to the near-death state as anticipated. Instead, his health and vitality seemed to return each morning as though nothing had happened. Without the Mark, the effects of the days of abuse would have been devastating to Dean. With the Mark, they were finding it difficult to even weaken him. They all decided they would need to be more aggressive.

"I've only got two days remaining of the incantation!" Crowley hissed to Cas. They were conferring in a corner of the dungeon while Dean remained in the seat of dubious honor, his blood flowing over the arms and back of the throne. Cas had never allowed the bloodletting to go on this long before. "Tomorrow, our little petal has to be wilted, or this will have all been a colossal waste of time."

"I understand," Cas answered. "I don't know how else we can advance the process. Dean has bled out enough today alone to have killed a normal human." Dean saw Cas give a concerned glance in his direction. He knew how much this was costing Cas – allowing Sam to die, watching Dean's life ebb away. But Dean also knew that Cas would not fail him.

"Cas…" Dean had barely spoken throughout the morning, and his voice now was low, barely audible across the open room. Finally, perhaps a small sign of weakening.

"Yes, Dean."

"Cas," his breathing was shallow and labored. Were they finally making some headway? "You saw him, right? You saw him?"

Cas did not need to ask who Dean was referring to. He knew that Dean's thoughts throughout this ordeal had always been on his brother. Again and again he had asked Cas for assurance, seeming to take comfort in hearing the news repeated.

"I did see him. He was in heaven. He seemed…content," Cas answered.

"And Jess? Jess is with him? Like we agreed?"

"Yes. They are together."

Dean nodded and smiled slightly. Then his eyes drifted shut as his entire body went slack.

"Crowley!" Cas called frantically. He began applying towels to Dean's wrist, pressing as hard as he dared to stem the flow of blood. He could have healed him completely with a touch, but that was not what Dean needed now. "Crowley!"

Crowley came and pressed a towel to Dean's throat. Dean was breathing, but only barely. For a long time, they stood applying pressure to the wounds, checking occasionally to see if the bleeding had stopped. After almost half an hour, they were able to cover the wounds with gauze and wrap them.

"I believe we're finally getting somewhere. We might be able to complete our mission impossible after all, darling." Crowley said.

Cas did not respond.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"So what exactly did Dr. Ogle say about this something 'out of the ordinary'?" Dean asked. He and Kayle were in the Impala, heading towards the Big South Fork National Park. Kayle looked a little uncomfortable at the question.

"She didn't really say very much. I just mentioned Devil's Den…or maybe she mentioned it? Anyway, we said it would be just the place for what you were talking about if it wasn't so hard to get to. So she said I really ought to tell you about it, that she thought you would really want to know. She just sort of gave me the impression that you guys were a different kind of FBI agent." Kayle paused, seeming almost embarrassed. "Sort of X-Files, you know?"

Dean scowled. _Sort of X-Files. Son of a bitch. This is your fault, Sammy. Should have shut Dr. Elizabeth down quick –_

"You know that was just a TV show, don't you?" Dean asked her. Kayle flashed him a seriously pissed-off look. Dean decided he might as well get it all out since she was already mad. "And you understand that I wasn't just shining my partner on, right? You really will be staying far away from this, and you won't be doing anything unless there is a life or death emergency."

"I understand. I won't do anything I'm not told to do. But you need me to get there." Kayle said with a touch of defiance.

"God help me…" Dean mumbled under his breath. Thankfully, it looked like Elizabeth hadn't really told Kayle all that much. If she had, Dean reasoned, surely Kayle would have been more worried than she was. Still, any publicity was bad publicity as far as Dean was concerned. Kayle's voice broke into his thoughts.

"I don't know who's doing this to the town, but it's someone evil. And I want you to find out who it is," Kayle said. "And I want to be there when you find them."

"We'll see about that."

The drive to the trailhead only took them half an hour. They loaded up gear there and started the hike in. It wasn't a difficult hike, the elevation change was slight, but it did require extra concentration in early spring. The path was heavily littered with leaves that had piled down during the previous autumn. And the temperatures had been fluctuating wildly over the past week. Mild rains had created muddy little pockets all along the trail, followed by a return to freezing temperatures which left thin patches of ice covering the mud puddles and adhering the leaves together in a slick mess. Dean had repeatedly been forced to catch himself, grabbing tree trunks and branches along the trail. They had gone in roughly two miles when Kayle stopped and pointed off to the right.

"This is where the trail branches off," she said. "It's about another mile in that direction to get to the drop-off."

The trail that branched off was unmarked and little more than a glorified pig path. They fought their way through disheveled undergrowth and gnarled rhododendron branches for a bit, then their path began to climb. The trail was more open now, but it was also much rockier. Dean wasn't sure which was worse – the masses of slick mud and leaves, or the slabs of peeling shale with patches of nearly invisible ice scattered over them.

The path wandered upwards in lazy switchbacks until they reached a plateau. They hiked on for roughly another hundred yards, then Kayle stopped and began scanning the trees on the right side of the path.

"There," she pointed off the trail to a tree marked with a single white blaze. "This way."

She led on, the path descending a bit now and climbing down over small ledges. Before long, Dean could see that they were approaching a drop-off. The tops of trees were visible below them in the distance. Kayle stopped and pointed off to the left.

"That's where you can walk-slash-climb down to where we're going," she explained. "If you don't have equipment, or if you're too scared to do the rappel."

Dean approached the drop-off and looked over. He judged it to be a drop of 40 feet, give or take, to the ground below. Thankfully, there was an open area to descend into. He hated rappelling into trees or shrubs. Rappelling was not something that Dean actually enjoyed. He and Sam had learned it from their father because John Winchester had believed it a necessary skill for hunting certain creatures. And they had used it occasionally over the years, so they kept in practice when they had time between hunts. It had been a couple of years since he and Sam had last rappelled, but Dean had no trouble sorting out the equipment or remembering how it was used. When John Winchester taught a skill, it tended to stick.

"So where did you get the equipment?" he asked. "Is it yours?"

"No, I borrowed it from a guy I used to date."

"Oh, well thanks for letting me know that," Dean groused. "Now I have to recheck everything." Kayle laughed.

"It ended on friendly terms," she said with a grin. "Or at least he was the type who'd want to be here to actually see me fall if he planned on getting rid of me that way."

Dean had no witty reply for that. He tugged on the rappel anchor he had created with webbing wrapped around a large tree about six feet from the cliff's edge, finding that the rope was firm and secure. He pulled several lengths of the nylon rope out of the rope bag, fed the end through the anchor bolt, and then knotted it securely. Moving closer to the edge, he began pulling rope from the bag, checking each length as he went for abrasions or signs of weakness, and coiling it at his feet until he had roughly 60 feet of rope piled there. Then he tossed the rope bag over the edge and followed it with the coiled rope. He was pleased to see that his loose rope reached the ground with a minimum of extra. _Still got it_ –

"So how much farther once we get to the bottom?" Dean asked as he stepped into the harness and began belting it around his waist.

"Not far at all," Kayle answered. She pointed below them and to the right. "See that rock face there? Devil's Den is just a couple hundred yards farther up."

Dean grabbed a loop of rope and fed it through the piece of equipment known as the figure 8. The name was a no-brainer. The aluminum piece looked exactly like an 8, only with one end of the 8 being much larger than the other one. The rope went in the larger end and then looped over the smaller end creating friction to allow Dean to control his descent. He clipped a carabiner through the small end of the 8 and also through a loop on his harness. _No turning back now –_

"Okay, I'm ready to go. Here's the plan," Dean jerked his head towards the cliff edge. "I'll go over first. Then you can pull the harness up on the rope, and I'll be down there to belay you. You know how to get yourself harnessed and hooked up?"

"Yes, thank you, Agent Van Zant. I have done this before." Dean chose not to comment on the sarcasm. He slung his pack across his body, walked to the edge of the drop-off, and turned around backwards. He held the lower end of the rope tightly against his hip as he positioned himself just on the edge. Then he sat back as far as he could and began his descent.

He was able to control his speed by moving his leading hand, the one at hip level, nearer his body or farther away from it. Farther away released tension so that he moved faster, closer in slowed him down. Dean kept his legs fairly stiff and walked them down the rock face, trying to keep them in line with his butt. If the legs got too far ahead you'd find yourself banging your nose into the rock wall, but if your butt got too far ahead you'd end up turned on your head. Neither was a comfortable position.

The only real problems he encountered were patches of ice from ground water oozing through the rock face. Dean avoided most of them, but one did catch him and he ended up painfully banging his knee and hip. Kayle heard his muttered expletive and stuck her head over the top of the cliff.

"You okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine….dammit…"

Dean gave an inward sigh of relief when he reached the ground. His favorite part of rappelling was always getting off the rope. He saw Kayle's face pop over the edge above.

"Be sure to send the figure 8 back up," she called. "I don't have an extra one up here."

Dean stepped out of the harness and dropped it to the ground. He unthreaded the rope from the figure 8 and dropped it to the ground also. Then he hollered his response.

"Kayle, if I'm not back in 2 hours, hike out and go tell Sam, okay?"

It took Kayle a few moments to realize that Dean had no intention of sending the rappelling gear back up.

"You can't do that! Dammit, Dean!"

"Just wait there," Dean said, shifting his pack more comfortably on his shoulder. As he turned away from the sound of Kayle's angry tirade, he glumly realized just how badly he had ruined his chances with the cute Officer McClanahan. The blow to the back of his head caught him completely by surprise, and Dean fell hard to the ground.

When the tapping on the door finally woke Sam, the first thing he did was look at the clock. How long had Dean and Kayle been gone? Seeing that he had been asleep for roughly three hours, Sam did some mental calculation, trying to remember what Kayle had said about times and distances. Drive time, hike time, rappel time – no, they hadn't had time to go out and back. They were almost certainly out of cell service range, but Sam tried Dean's number anyway. Just as he expected, it went straight to voicemail. _It's okay. He's just going to look around, and I'm sure they don't get cell service in the middle of nowhere._ Sam knew there was nothing he could do but wait, so the best thing would be to not think about it at all. The tapping came again at the door, a little more forcefully this time, and Sam realized what must have awoken him.

He sat up carefully and found that his head was not throbbing as badly. He pulled on a pair of jeans, tucked his gun into the waistband in the back, and walked quietly to the door. Through the peephole he could see Elizabeth with her hand raised to knock yet again, determined to get a response.

Sam opened the door and Elizabeth jumped.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "You are there. I mean, I thought surely you would be since you weren't in the hospital anymore. Because I called…I mean, I called the hospital…I didn't want to call you in case you were sleeping. Which is what you should be doing, by the way. But I did want to check on you. Dr. Mallicoat was really not happy about you leaving…I sort of promised that I would look in on you…so I came here and the car was gone, but…"

She finally made eye contact with Sam, saw that he looked stunned at the torrent of words, and abruptly stopped talking.

"Did you want to come in?"

"Yes," Elizabeth answered.

By the time Elizabeth was seated at the table, and Sam was again seated on the bed, she had regained her composure.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better than I was earlier this morning." Sam twisted to reach for a water bottle on the bedside table and was pleased to find that he was able to make the maneuver without any dizziness. "I'm resting, just like the doctor ordered." He took a long drink, emptying the bottle.

"Can I take a look at your head wound?" Sam was about to defer, but Elizabeth was already approaching him. She was again dressed casually, and Sam found that worries about his brother were pretty easily pushed aside by his appreciation of her in jeans. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have Dr. Ogle examine him. He scooted forward a bit and swung one leg to the opposite side of the bed corner so that Elizabeth could stand directly in front of him. He tilted his head up and to the right.

Elizabeth's fingers very gently pushed the hair back and felt around the edges of the lump behind Sam's left ear.

"Does that hurt?"

"Hmm?" Sam had actually been preoccupied analyzing the faint fragrance that he could detect with Elizabeth standing so close to him. _Is that vanilla? Maybe some flowers. It's nice –_

"Does that hurt?"

"No, no – well, a little. Just tender."

"Look at me." Sam immediately turned his head towards her, thinking that sounded very promising. Elizabeth shone a penlight directly into his left eye. He cringed away from the piercing light, but Elizabeth took hold of his chin and turned his face back to hers.

"Come on, I need to check your pupils." With her hand on his face, Sam obligingly opened his eyes to be blinded again. Then Elizabeth tucked the penlight back into her pocket and gave him an overall appraising look. "Pupils are fine, appropriate response. How about the abrasions and bruising?"

"Nothing I haven't had before."

"Yeah, I bet that's true. I guess you're in pretty good shape for the shape you're in," she said. Then she raised her hand and brushed the hair back from his ear again. Her other hand rested on his shoulder. The examination seemed to be over, but Elizabeth didn't move away from him.

Sam closed his legs in just a fraction – not enough to make her feel trapped, just enough so that they rested lightly against her legs.

"You should probably stay close. You might need to check my head again."

She laughed and gave his ear a gentle tug. "I should probably stay close because you're a problem patient."

"Well, if Dr. Mallicoat looked like you, I would still be in the hospital," Sam said, bringing his hands up to her waist. He had just gotten the words out when his stomach rumbled so ferociously that it startled them both. Elizabeth laughed, both at his stomach and at Sam's frustrated groan.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get you some food. I can't take advantage of an injured, starving man." She stepped back from the bed and Sam reluctantly stood up. He looked down just as Elizabeth raised her head to smile at him. Sam felt a tiny nibble at his memory – something about her face as she raised her head, something about the way her hair fell back, it reminded him of sometime before. He stood there distracted, puzzling over the thought. It seemed vital somehow that he place the memory.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" Elizabeth's smile had turned to a look of concern. Recall flashed into Sam's mind – Elizabeth at the wheel of a car, her head raising just as Sam turned to look, smiling at him and then a look of concentration just as the engine revved.

In an instant, Sam had stepped away from her, bringing the gun out of his waistband and raising it as he moved.

"You were driving the car. You were the one who hit me."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

When Dean came to, it took him several minutes to realize that he wasn't going anywhere. He was bound, his arms pulled over his head almost exactly like the demonstration he had performed back in Dr. Ogle's examining room.

No matter how many times Dean found himself in a situation like this, and the times had been numerous, his body's first reaction was always the same. Panic churned in his gut and threatened to overwhelm him.

 _"_ _Panic like that will get us killed, Dean!" his father had thundered._

 _Ten-year-old Dean was supposed to have been the bait, luring the vampire to exactly where John Winchester was waiting, but instead Dean had spooked and tried to run too soon. Because of that, his father had been forced to reveal his position, and things had gone completely sideways. John had only barely managed to attain his desired outcome – two live Winchesters and one dead vampire. Then he had fallen silent for the entire time it took to dig a hole and burn the body and head. Dean had been beyond tense when his father finally started in on him._

 _"_ _I tried not to be scared, Dad. I'm sorry," Dean had said, ashamed of the tremor in his voice, even now when the danger was passed. John Winchester had looked at him steadily before answering, his eyes boring into Dean's with the seriousness of the lesson._

 _"_ _I don't care if you're scared or not, son. You're a Winchester. Button it up. Do the job. Do you hear me?"_

 _"_ _Yes, sir."_

Dean throttled down the panic. Do the job. For several minutes he just concentrated on listening. He heard nothing around him. Whatever had tied him up was gone for now. Then Dean opened his eyes and found that his surroundings were unlit but not completely dark. He turned his head to the right. Another person was hanging beside him, an IV line attached to his neck and trailing down behind him, his head hanging forward so that his face was hidden. Dean assumed it was another one of the missing persons.

He moved his legs and found that his feet were able to almost completely touch the ground, only his heels still held aloft. Dean turned his body to the left. A rock wall was within a foot or two of his face. He continued to turn until he could see what was behind him. More people, lots of people, all hanging by their arms, attached to eyebolts in the low cave ceiling. No, not a cave, what had Kayle said? A rock cleft with alcoves off of it. That's why it wasn't pitch black.

It was obvious that many of the people were already dead. Some of the bodies were shriveled like the ones found by the dumpster. Others were horrifically wounded, gnawed to the bone in some places. The air was thick with the smell of blood and decay. But Dean's practiced senses told him that there were still some living among the victims around him.

Dean allowed his body to rotate back to the front. He pressed his feet into the stone floor, standing on his tiptoes and giving his arms some slack. He stretched his hands out as far and he could and felt around. His fingers found the ropes binding his arms closely but also handcuffs on each wrist that were fed through the eyebolt. _Awesome. A monster with real planning skills_ –

Stretching his hands up, Dean was able to feel where the eyebolt was anchored into the rock ceiling. At least one of the victims had attempted to dig away at the anchor, probably hoping to loosen it and pull the eyebolt free. Dean felt around the eyebolt and realized the hopelessness of that plan. Judging by the thickness of the metal, the anchor was sure to be too long and too thick to be budged. The handcuffs were the way to go. If he could find some way to open one of the handcuff wrists, he could work his way out of the rope.

What did he have to work with? He was bare from the waist up. Whatever had tied him up had taken those clothes along with his shoes. He couldn't feel his gun against his back, so that was gone. And everything from his pants pockets was probably gone also. Hard to reach your own pockets anyway, tied up like he was. _The other guy – the IV needle_ –

He twisted to the right again and judged the distance between himself and the body hanging next to him. It could work. Dean walked himself back towards the rock wall next to him. He pushed off from there and swung his legs up as hard as he could, catching the other guy around the waist and gripping the eyebolt to steady himself. He thought he heard a small groan. _Knew someone was alive in here. Sorry about the mauling, dude. Just be still and maybe I can get us both out of here –_

Dean reached up with his left leg and crammed his foot between the guy's arm and neck to anchor his body. With his right foot, he located the IV line hanging down the guy's back and, with careful motions, was able to wrap the slack tightly around his leg. Bending his toes into as much of a grip as they were capable of, Dean grasped the IV needle and twisted his foot away from the body, pulling the needle free. He pulled his left foot from its wedged position, allowing it to fall to the ground, and scrabbled to find a hold before he swung too far and pulled the needle out of his grip. Somehow, Dean managed to stop himself and was relieved to find that the needle was still held between his toes. _Son of a bitch – I can't believe that worked –_

He clutched the eyebolt even tighter and began curling his lower body upward. His toes were beginning to cramp, and Dean worried that he would lose the needle at any moment. He strained his head down as far as he could while raising his legs. Just when he feared that his body was going to give out entirely, Dean managed to make the top of his knee meet his mouth, and he was able to snag the IV line tubing between his teeth. He dropped his lower body and released his hold on the eyebolt, allowing himself to rotate freely for the moment. His chest heaving with exertion, he grimaced around the tubing in his mouth, sucking down great gulps of air through his teeth.

When his breathing had returned to almost normal, Dean stood on tiptoes again and twisted his wrists as well as he could within the confines of the ropes and the handcuffs. When he was satisfied, he lowered himself _– well, this is make or break – dammit, this is probably going to hurt –_ then made several simultaneous moves. He pushed off from the floor as forcefully as he could while at the same time firmly grasping the eyebolt and pulling himself upward. He tilted his head and thrust it toward his right hand.

Just as he had feared, Dean's head scraped the stone ceiling, and his nose rammed into the eyebolt. When the maneuver was complete, he was left with a long abrasion down the left side of his face and a sharp pain in the bridge of his nose that caused his eyes to water, but the IV line tubing lay in the crook of his right thumb just as he had planned. The rest was simple – ease the tubing between his fingers until he could pinch the end of the needle and then use the needle to pick the left handcuff. It took Dean less than a minute to pop the lock. He was just preparing to twist it open when he heard footsteps approaching.

Immediately, Dean flung the IV line away from himself and let his body go slack, hanging his head forward as though still unconscious. The footsteps were almost directly ahead.

Out of the corner of his barely opened eyelids, Dean saw a creature approach the guy next to him. He hoped the missing IV would go unnoticed. The opposite end of the IV line was attached to a bag hanging beside the guy where a mix of blood and body fluids had collected. The creature picked up the bag and drank greedily from an opening on the top. Dean could just make out markings on the creature's arm. They looked like intricate blue tattooing. A djinn. He felt a twinge of satisfaction at having correctly identified that much. But what kind of djinn mutant was it if it also ate human flesh?

From somewhere in the distance, Dean could hear more footsteps approaching. There were at least two others, possibly more. A nest of djinn? He had never heard of such a thing. The lore on djinn all said that they were solitary creatures. The footsteps stopped several feet in front of him so that Dean was unable to see anything about who they belonged to without moving his head.

"I think you're already awake, so you might as well look up here, you stupid hunter bastard."

Dean raised his head. In front of him stood two djinn, the one he had already spotted plus one more. And next to them stood two of the missing persons. One of them was Brandon Coontz. Dean recognized him from his file, and from seeing his head lying dead on the ground, still attached to his picked-clean bones. _What the hell…are you freakin' kidding me? Ghouls, too?_ –

And standing in front of the four of them was…

…Kayle.

With a deep sigh, Dean closed his eyes for just a moment to mentally berate himself. Then he opened them again and glared at Kayle.

"Sure, since you asked so nice, bitch."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"Sam, I swear it wasn't me. Please don't." Elizabeth's voice was verging on hysterical, her eyes riveted by the gun that Sam held pointed at her. She remembered how Sam had simply looked bemused when the situation had been reversed, and the memory made her even more frightened. While her feeble attempt at holding him at gunpoint had involved a gun pointed somewhere in Sam's general direction, Sam was aiming directly at her forehead and looked entirely likely to pull the trigger at any moment. "It wasn't me, Sam, please."

"I saw you driving the car," Sam insisted. He was already regretting pulling the gun. Not that he knew for sure yet that he didn't need it, just that jumping straight to a standoff seemed like such an amateur move. Clearly, the car accident and the injuries had rattled him.

"You were driving the car, and you were the one that sent Dean and Kayle to check out Devil's Den. It was you – or something that looked exactly like you."

"Something was pretending to be me, then," Elizabeth said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. "You have to believe me. I'm not the one who hurt you, Sam."

He could hear the fear in her voice, and it didn't make him feel good. Sam backed over to the motel room closet, the gun never losing its aim on Elizabeth. He leaned sideways and snagged one of the duffel bags on the closet floor. He threw it onto his bed and then reached inside to rifle through the contents, tossing a few out as he found what he needed – a flask, a small silver knife, and a container of salt.

"You know the drill. I showed you what to do," he said, gesturing at the items arrayed before him. When Elizabeth just continued to stare at the gun, Sam lowered it to his side. "Come on. Let's just get this over with, okay?"

Lowering the gun seemed to placate her. Elizabeth approached the far side of the bed and picked up the flask. She poured a bit of the water over her hand and then looked up at Sam. He nodded his approval.

"Not a demon," he said. The look of relief on her face was almost comical. As in their first encounter in the motel room, Sam again found himself thinking that if she was a monster, she was the worst one he had ever seen. "Now the knife."

Elizabeth blanched and swallowed hard. She picked up the little knife, too small to do any real damage, and drew it as lightly as possible across her forearm. Like every blade Sam and Dean owned, this one was razor sharp, and a thin line of red welled up. Again, she looked up at Sam.

"Now the salt," was all he said.

She picked up the salt container, poured a bit into her hand, and then winced as she pressed it against the tiny cut. Nothing else happened – no burning, no shriveling skin. She wasn't a demon. She wasn't a ghoul. She wasn't a shifter. Sam tucked the gun back into his waistband. He picked up the items from the bed and replaced them in the duffel bag, putting it away in the closet. Then he turned to find Elizabeth looking as though she was about to cry.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay, now," Sam started to come around the bed toward her, but Elizabeth held up her hands to stop him.

"It's okay now, but thirty seconds ago you were pointing a gun at my forehead," she said, her voice tremulous.

Again, Sam recalled her first visit to the motel room. He had scanned the room before she arrived, looking for anything that might frighten a regular person, ready to hide it away from her. _I guess the scariest thing was just me. Forgot to hide that –_

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth, I'm really sorry…" Sam's voice was gentle, asking her to understand. But Elizabeth felt like screaming, or like chucking something at his head. The sad look in his eyes stopped her. She had a sudden memory of the wary look that had always haunted her uncle's eyes. _What must it be like to spend your whole life around evil like that? Evil that can hide and disguise, and destroy you when you thought you were safe._ She found her anger replaced quite suddenly with an irrational feeling of protectiveness. Elizabeth had declared that she wasn't the thing that hurt Sam, and now she was determined for that to be true.

"I'm okay. This is all just so…" She stopped herself and attempted a reassuring smile for Sam. "You got another Band-Aid?"

Sam was inordinately careful as he bandaged the tiny cut on Elizabeth's arm. He held her arm in his hand for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, then wrenched his mind back to the job, talking through what they had learned.

"Something that looked like you was definitely driving the car that hit me. Ghouls only take on the appearance of their dead victims, and you're still here, so we have to be dealing with some kind of shifter."

"But that could be anybody, then, right?" Elizabeth asked.

"It could be, but it's usually not," Sam responded. "I mean, most shifters have a reason for who they impersonate. So why did it want to impersonate you?"

"I don't know. But you also said that I sent Dean and Kayle to go check out Devil's Den. I never did that."

"You mean you and Kayle didn't talk about investigating Devil's Den?"

Elizabeth look puzzled. "I never talked to Kayle about that. I don't really know that much about Devil's Den. It's sort of like a cave, right?" She suddenly remembered their earlier conversation at her office and Dean's demonstration with his arms over his head. "Is that where the victims were? Is that where Dean thinks the others might be?"

Sam didn't answer. He roughed his hands through his hair as he tried to remember exactly how the conversation had gone between him and Dean and Kayle. Had Kayle said that she and Elizabeth had discussed Devil's Den, or was that information he had gotten from Dean? Dean had definitely been under the impression that Elizabeth had given Kayle some hint of what they were looking for.

"You never talked to Kayle about us looking for something out of the ordinary?" Sam asked.

"I would never even hint to anyone what you all are looking for," Elizabeth answered, a little indignantly. "Why would Kayle tell you I said that? She's been acting strange."

"Strange how?" Sam jumped on the comment. Elizabeth blinked.

"Not strange like eating people strange," she said quickly. "Just strange like…well…it's hard to explain. Strange like treating me like she did when we were in high school. At the crime scene at the nail salon, she was actually calling me an old nickname, being a pain. You know, we used to despise each other. But we both grew up. We've worked together for years now, and we get along fine."

"But someone brand new to all those memories might not have it all sorted out yet..." Sam contemplated. Then, abruptly, he flew into action. He had already pulled on shoes and was packing a bag before Elizabeth caught up to his train of thought.

"You think Kayle's the shifter? When did she become a shifter? Is she the one taking people?" Elizabeth was starting to sound hysterical again.

"I think there's a shifter posing as Kayle," Sam responded, his voice intense with worry. "I don't know how long it's been doing that. At least since before that crime scene. But then I think it posed as you to run me down – I mean, what better way to get Dean and I separated, right, only deal with one of us at a time? Plus, bonus, if I survive and remember who hit me, all the suspicion would be on you."

Throughout his explanation, Sam had continued to frantically gather supplies. "We have to go right now. Dean is in the woods with Kayle, and he

doesn't have any idea."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Dean was surreptitiously holding onto the eyebolt with his hands, praying that they would not notice the loose handcuff. Five-to-one odds were more than he was willing to take on. He wished he had any idea of how long he had been out. How long would it be before Sam came looking for him? Would Sam be capable of looking for him? All he could do right now was play for time.

"So what the hell are djinn and ghouls doing hanging out together? You know, Monster Mash always sounded like so much more fun in the song," Dean said.

Kayle walked closer to him. "You just cannot believe how long I've wanted to do this," she said. She struck Dean across the face with such ferocity that his head snapped to the side and his grip was nearly torn free. "That felt as good as I thought it would."

The blow split Dean's bottom lip and left the inside of his cheek mangled. He spit a mouthful of blood on the ground, then looked at the laughing foursome arrayed behind Kayle.

"Yeah, I'd go ahead and enjoy myself while I could," he said conversationally. "But I think you all ought to run along now." He turned his head to grin maliciously at Kayle, his teeth outlined in blood. "The way this little wildcat's flirting, I'm pretty sure she wants me all to herself. I'm not really into the whole bondage thing, but I guess I could give it a try."

With an inhuman noise, the Brandon Coontz ghoul surged forward, snapping his bared teeth at Dean's face. But Kayle held up a hand to stop him, and one of the djinn pulled Brandon back.

"Oh, I see…Mommy calls the shots, huh?" Dean taunted, while the four of them stared at him malevolently. "You follow Mommy's orders like good little doggies, don't you? If you make her mad, she might not feed you any more treats. I guess she's smarter than your average ghoul." Kayle simply looked amused at Dean baiting them.

"You actually think you're going to get out of this, don't you?" She asked incredulously. "But I've been waiting for this for a long time, Dean. Do you know how excited I was when you and your brother walked into the police station? We'd already hit up a half-dozen little crap towns like this, and not a single hunter had turned up. I was beginning to think I was going to have to rent a billboard."

Dean's brows drew together in confusion. "You've been dropping bodies like this in six other towns?"

"No, you idiot. The bodies you found were just to string you two along. Once I had you on the line, I wanted to play you a bit," she smiled and winked at him. "It's just so much fun watching you chase your asses." Dean could hear the hyenas laughing again, but his concentration was all on Kayle's words. He still couldn't figure out what was going on. None of it made sense. Djinn and ghouls didn't behave like this. Why intentionally attract hunters?

"It was an amazing plan, if I do say so myself," Kayle boasted. "I've been selective of our clientele – believable disappearances, no one to miss them too much. And no unexplained bodies. Just a subtle hint here and there that something was a little off. Like car wreck dude with his chewed up bones. I dropped little clues in every town we hit, but still no hunters showed up. I guess I just overestimated hunters' intelligence."

"Well, don't feel bad, we've never overestimated yours..." Dean had barely gotten the words out when Kayle struck him again, even harder than the first time, and he actually saw his vision tunneling in for a moment. He gripped the eyebolt and waited for his head to clear, spitting out more blood. The banter clearly needed to come down a notch if he was going to hang on long enough for an escape attempt, or a rescue. _Tell me more about your awesome plan. Take all the time you need –_

"Why did you want to attract hunters? We're sort of used to being avoided."

Kayle chuckled. "I'm sure that's true, normally. But these aren't normal times, are they Dean?"

Dean looked at her, genuinely perplexed. What was their game? What was the point of the feeding frenzy and trying to be found out? Kayle was staring at him with a cruel glint in her eyes, his pain and confusion giving her obvious pleasure. She began to slowly circle his body, trailing her fingers along his bare skin. Dean forced himself to remain passive. A reaction was just what she wanted, and he'd be damned if he'd give it to her.

"Oh, you still don't get it do you, baby? See, the world's ending, and we're gonna live it up while we can. There's no fixing this; may as well smoke 'em since we got 'em," she laughed. "I rounded up this little bunch and convinced them it was time to eat, drink, and be merry. And maybe, if they were really good, I would feed them a hunter before it was all over. Imagine my delight when I didn't get just A hunter – I got THE hunters. The ones that lit the match for that final bonfire. The hunters that set the Darkness loose."

Dean looked at her, stunned. Their behavior made a warped sort of sense now. They had just decided to throw off all restraint – abandon the precautions most monsters used to ensure their survival. _They don't even care anymore. Why worry if you figure it's all coming to an end anyway? All these people, all these victims – they're just running through them. This is all because of what I've done, this is all my fault –_

"Oh yeah, we know all about it, Dean," Kayle said, correctly interpreting the expression on his face. "The hunters that ended the world. I think a little payback is deserved for that, don't you?" She had circled back around to face Dean again.

"So here's a fun tidbit. Your brother may have already killed Elizabeth – if he remembers that I was looking like her when I ran him down. I'll be sure to get ahold of him and tell him the thoughts she had about him…oh, it's going to break his Jolly Green heart." Kayle was stroking Dean's cheek as she spoke, her enjoyment at the thought of manipulating Sam evident. Dean couldn't help but turn away from her in disgust.

Kayle grabbed his face and jerked it back toward hers, pressing viciously against his busted lip, twisting until blood covered her thumb. She smirked at his sharp intake of breath, and then held her thumb out towards one of the ghouls. Both of them leered at Dean as Brandon Coontz eagerly sucked the blood from Kayle's thumb. A realization fell into place in Dean's head.

"You're not a ghoul. You're a shifter. You don't even need these bodies. What the hell do you get out of this, bitch?"

"I told you, I'm the planner. I'm the host for the last big monster bash this world will ever see." As she spoke, Kayle trailed her hand up Dean's arm, stretching on her tiptoes and pressing her body against his. She whispered into his ear as her hand squeezed the handcuff closed again on his wrist. "And as a good host, I can't let the main dish get away. I promised you to the djinn, sugar."

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw one of the djinn standing right next to him, his hand reaching toward Dean's head – a blue energy, almost like flame, gathering in his palm –

Dean was standing in an open area surrounded by woods. In front of him was a funeral pyre topped by a white-shrouded figure. He looked down to find that he was holding a pack of matches in his hand. _What the hell –_

Visions, like brief memories, flashed suddenly into Dean's mind.

 _His face in the mirror, unrecognizable to himself as the Mark pulled him down._

 _Death, explaining the destruction that would be unleashed on the world if the Mark was ever removed and the Darkness was set free._

 _Crowley, eager to eliminate the growing threat of the Mark, offering a solution – a way to save the world, but at a terrible price._

 _Sam, unable to bear the thought of watching his brother descend into madness, arguing that the result was worth the price – arguing that they had no other choice._

 _Cas, agreeing to help, agreeing to his conditions – Sam would be delivered to heaven, would be reunited with Jessica._

 _Sam again, calm as he sat twisted and contorted on that hideous chair. And then blood, so much blood…_

Dean jerked back in shock, raising his hands to stare at them as though expecting to see the knife, to see his brother's blood dripping from his fingers. But there was nothing there, only the pack of matches. The deed was already done. He flipped the matches over in his hand, waiting for his racing heart to slow. Was it true? Had he really killed Sam?

No – something was wrong – this wasn't real –

 _Of course something's wrong. You killed your brother. You killed Sam to spare the world from the Mark and the Darkness. So you damn sure better finish this, you worthless coward –_

Sam had let himself be sacrificed to save the world; he deserved a hunter's burial. Dean continued to flip the pack of matches, wondering why he was hesitating.

It wasn't real – it couldn't be real –

 _Just light it up_ –


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Can you get me to Devil's Den?" Sam was loading gear into a backpack and into his jacket pockets. The speed with which he was suddenly arming himself for battle stunned Elizabeth into silence. _Is that…was that a jar of blood?!_

"Sam…" the word came out barely above a whisper. Sam glanced up and saw the look on Elizabeth's face.

"It's okay. It's lamb's blood," he said. She felt certain that he believed that explanation to be more comforting than it actually was. "So can you get me to Devil's Den?"

"I know the trailhead, that's about all." Elizabeth answered.

"That's okay, if you can get me there, I've got a topographical map. I can figure out the rest."

Sam quickly zipped the backpack closed and hoisted it onto his shoulder. He shoved one of the protein bars that Dean had left into his mouth whole, and then washed it down quickly with another bottle of water.

"We've got to go."

"Sam, you can't go out there. It's a hike – a HIKE. You're not in any shape to be…"

"Elizabeth, this isn't a debate. Either you can drive me to the trailhead, or I can hotwire the police car out there and drive myself. But if I do that, I won't be able to figure out the map until get there, and that's going to waste time." He gestured to the door and inclined his head, clearly asking if she was going to cooperate or not.

"Fine. Take more medication before you leave." Sam quickly downed another antibiotic, but decided that the anti-nausea and pain medications were too likely to impair his thinking.

Neither of them spoke as they drove to the national park. Elizabeth couldn't think of anything she could possibly say, and Sam was engrossed in deciphering the map and determining his route. They were almost there before he felt that he had a solid understanding of directions and distances to get him to Devil's Den.

"Okay, once we get to the trailhead, you're going to dump me out and head back to town immediately. Go home, go to the office, do whatever you would normally be doing today, got it?"

"How can I just let you out? How can I let you start out on a hike? You could pass out, you could fall…"  
"Will you please do what I'm telling you to do?" Sam asked.

"I'm just worried about you."

"I know," Sam said. "But Dean's in danger right now. I have to go out there."

"Damn hunters," Elizabeth mumbled under her breath, and Sam couldn't help but feel a little touched. It had been a long time since a woman had worried about him.

The Impala was the only other vehicle in the parking lot, and Elizabeth was pulling in next to it when a figure came striding suddenly into view from the trail. It was Dean.

"Sam!"

Sam jumped out of the car as soon as Elizabeth stopped; Dean was already in the Impala's trunk rooting around. "I know I told you to stay put, Sammy, but I'm glad you're here, man. Did you bring the lamb's blood? I want to take that. And more bullets."

"Dean, where's Kayle?" Dean jerked his head out of the car trunk. He could hear the warning in Sam's voice.

"Why? What's wrong?" he asked quickly.

"I think it's a shifter posing as Kayle," Sam answered. "Where is she?"

"She's somewhere on the trail, I think," Dean said, a scowl darkening his face. "She just disappeared. I was getting the rappelling gear hooked up, and then she was gone. That's why I'm back here. When things went sideways that quick, I decided I didn't have enough ammo. I thought she'd been taken. Son of a bitch – a shifter? Really?"

"Yeah, I think so," Sam said.

"Well then, what the hell is she playing at? She led me right to the rappel point, and then she just vanished. Why do that? And why is she here?" He jerked his head accusingly at Elizabeth who had emerged from the car and walked around to the trunk.

"Because I thought you were alone in the woods with a shifter, and I needed someone to drive me while I figured out how to find you," Sam answered defensively. "She's leaving as soon as I get my backpack out of the car."

"No. If you think Kayle's a shifter, then we've lost track of her for now. Elizabeth should stay with us, Sam."

"And I think she needs to get away from here as soon as possible, Dean."

"I'm not luggage," Elizabeth snapped at them both. "I'll decide what I'm doing, and I'm going to stay."

"I told you…" Sam started to say, but Dean cut in over him.

"Great, that's decided. Now can we please go? We're losing daylight."

Dean headed back to the trail at a brisk pace. Elizabeth skirted around Sam without actually making eye contact and quickly followed. Sam walked after them, his entire demeanor radiating anger.

Surrounded by ominous woods, and book-ended by tense, silent men, Elizabeth was soon regretting her decision. She could feel her nerves stretching tighter and tighter. But would she have felt any better in town, possibly encountering the shifter without even realizing it? There was no good answer no matter how she looked at it.

The muddy, slippery trail did all it could to impede their progress, and both Sam and Elizabeth almost fell more than once. The second time she slipped, Sam caught her by the arm and kept her upright. She mumbled a thank you and glanced up into his face.

"You're okay. Stay close to me." Sam responded curtly, still glaring at his brother up ahead. Elizabeth could tell that he meant to be reassuring, but his tone did nothing to lessen her nerves.

"This is where we branch off," Dean was pointing ahead of them to where a barely distinguishable trail headed off to the right of the main trail they were on. He stopped for a moment to allow everyone to catch their breath.

"How much further?" Sam asked

"About a mile I think. I haven't seen any signs of anyone going off-trail, have you?"

Sam agreed. Muddy boot prints had been plentiful on the trail, but none of them had veered off in either direction.

"Either Kayle is still ahead of us, or she took another trail to loop behind us," Sam said.

"Yeah, well, if she's trying to stay hidden, she's about to be out of luck," Dean responded.

Sure enough, after some thick undergrowth, the branching trail opened up into a rocky slope. They climbed upward, slipping on icy shale and stopping occasionally to check in all directions for signs that they were being followed. Nothing.

Dean almost passed the tree with the white blaze, but caught himself at the last minute. He led them off in that direction, and they were soon at the rappel point. The webbing was still secured around the tree, the rope attached. The harness and gear lay abandoned nearby.  
"So how are we going to work this?" Sam asked.

"Well, she can't stay by herself," Dean said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Elizabeth. "So I guess you go first and then belay for her and I'll come down last." Sam nodded his agreement and walked over to where the harness lay on the ground. Then he paused.

"Have you ever rappelled before?" he asked suspiciously, looking at Elizabeth.

"I did a rock climbing wall once when I was in college," she answered weakly.

"Good enough," Dean said. "Dude, you'll be on belay for her – she'll be fine."

"Come here, at least be sure you know how to harness up right." Sam positioned the harness on the ground for her to step into. Elizabeth came to stand in front of him and Sam crouched to show her where to place her feet.

"Come on, man, this doesn't…" Dean never finished the sentence. As soon as Elizabeth was close enough, Sam shoved her behind him, rose from his crouch, and pulled the gun out of his waistband. One clean shot to the head, and Dean dropped like a stone.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Elizabeth was too shocked to move or make a sound. She simply stood there, her hand against the small tree that she had stumbled into when Sam pushed her, her eyes huge with disbelief.

 _What just happened?!_

Sam replaced the gun in his waistband and calmly turned to her.

"That was the shifter. I just wanted to be sure that it was really taking us to Devil's Den before I killed it."

"What the hell!" Elizabeth exploded. "You couldn't tell me that? How do you even know?" Her knees seemed to give way at that point, and she slid down to the ground. "Sam, how do you know that's not your brother you just shot?"

"I know that wasn't my brother," he said with absolute certainty. "Trust me. And you might want to cover your ears. This is probably going to sound pretty nasty."

Sam walked over to the body, grabbed it under the shoulders, and began dragging it towards the drop off. Seeing what he intended to do, Elizabeth clapped her hands over her ears and averted her eyes. But even with her ears covered as tightly as possible, she still heard the sounds the body made as it bounced off the rocks and landed some forty-feet below them. She shuddered. How could Sam be so certain? How could he be so calm?

After a bit, Elizabeth cautiously opened her eyes. She immediately wished that she hadn't. Sam was now crouched on the ground holding one of his huge silver knives and dipping it in the jar of blood that he had brought with him. Elizabeth gritted her teeth.

 _Dammit, I am a freaking doctor. I am NOT going to vomit –_

She stood up, brushed her pants off, and cleared her throat. Her voice was going to come out steady if it killed her.

"What's that for?"

Sam seemed relieved to see her on her feet. "This," he explained, "is how you kill a djinn – a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood."

He sheathed the knife and then attached the sheath to his belt. He pulled a second knife out of the backpack and began dipping it in the jar. "You'll know it's a djinn by the blue, tattoo-like markings on its skin."

Sam sheathed the second knife and held the sheath out towards Elizabeth. She only hesitated for a second before accepting the knife, and Sam nodded in approval. He loaded the jar of blood back into his backpack and then brought out a gun and held it out to her.

"Okay, wait just a minute…" Elizabeth started to say.

"You said you knew how to shoot one. Was that true?" Sam asked. "We don't know what we're going to find down there, Elizabeth. That shifter can't have been what was draining and eating those victims. Dean was sure a djinn was involved, but we need to be prepared for anything. It's loaded with silver bullets," he added. "Try for a headshot."

Elizabeth took the gun. Better safe than sorry, she told herself. Even if she could barely hit the broad side of a barn.

"We're going to have to go the long way," Sam said. "I don't want to leave you up here while I rappel down, and I sure don't want you down there by yourself."

Elizabeth completely agreed with that sentiment. Even the thought of being at the bottom of that drop off – by herself – with the dead shifter who looked like Dean. _No –_

The trail down was steep and narrow and an absolute mess. It was rarely ever used – most people who came out there came for the purpose of rappelling – so it was overgrown and littered with loose rocks. Parts of the trail were even washed out, and they were forced to edge as close to the hillside as they could.

Sam was regretting his decision to skip his other two medications. The adrenaline rush of realizing that Dean was out in the woods with a shifter had been quickly followed by rage when he saw the monster impersonating his brother. Now, the anger had drained away; and, although his anxiety over Dean's whereabouts was growing by the minute, the aftermath of the adrenaline rush had left him feeling shakier than ever. His body ached like he was feverish, his stomach was twisting and looping, and his head was splitting. It was taking every ounce of his concentration to manage the trail and keep an eye on Elizabeth.

For her part, Elizabeth was anxiously watching the color seeping out of Sam's face and praying that he was going to make it to the bottom of the trail. She was terrified that he was going to pass out, and then what would she do? There was no way she was going to be able to hold on to his gargantuan frame. If they could just reach the bottom, he could sit for a bit and rest – although she had to admit to herself that there was very little chance he would actually do that. At least on flat ground he would only have six feet to fall. They finally reached the bottom of the trail.

"You need to sit down…"

"We need to head in that direction…"

They both began talking at once, and then looked at each other as though the other one was crazy.

"We don't have time to waste," Sam said.

"We're going to end up wasting a lot of time if you pass out and I have to carry you the rest of the way," Elizabeth countered. "I've seen corpses with more color than you have right now."

Sam looked prepared to argue, but instead he abruptly lay his backpack down and sat on a fallen log next to it. He was stubborn, but he also knew the truth when he heard it. And he was hearing it not only from Elizabeth, but from his own body – he was very close to nose-diving, and that certainly wouldn't help Dean.

Elizabeth sat next to him, grateful that he had listened to reason. He handed her one of the protein bars from his pack and opened one for himself. They both ate carefully; Elizabeth's stomach wasn't feeling much better than Sam's. When the bars were gone, Sam pulled out a bottle of water for each of them, and they both drank with equal care. Neither spoke for a bit.

"I think it's all going to stay down for now, doc. Can we get moving?"

"You look like you're actually getting some blood to your head again, so yeah."

Sam stood and took off with strides that forced Elizabeth to jog to keep up. The trail followed closely against the hillside, and they had gone about a hundred yards when they came out suddenly into the clearing that they would have rappelled into. The shifter's broken body, Dean's body, lay crumpled there at the foot of the hillside. For just a second it caught Sam unawares and an icy grip clenched at his heart.

 _That's not Dean. That's not Dean –_

His abrupt stop and quick intake of breath startled Elizabeth. She was following as closely behind him as she could, but his shoulders completely blocked her view of the clearing. She pushed around him and then gasped as she too saw the lifeless body. Turning quickly, she tugged on Sam's arm.

"It's not him. We're going to find him," Elizabeth said, but Sam was still not moving, his eyes riveted by the sight of his brother's body lying dead on the ground.

"Sam!" Sam blinked and looked down at her. "Come on. Let's go…"

"Just a minute," he spoke quietly. Sam walked over to where the shifter lay and knelt down, pulling the boots off of the body. "These are Dean's, and he's going to need them for the hike out." He tied the boots to a strap of his backpack.

"Now we can go," Sam said. "I'm sorry, it caught me off guard."

"I know, me too," Elizabeth responded. She nodded at Sam to continue, and they both left the clearing without looking back. They had only gone about ten yards when Elizabeth heard the smallest sound behind her. She didn't even have time to turn before she was grabbed and slammed against someone's chest with such force that the breath was knocked out of her.

"Sam," she barely gasped, her hands clawing ineffectually against an arm tightening across her windpipe. Sam had already turned to the faint sound of the scuffle. A djinn was holding Elizabeth, one arm around her neck and the other holding a knife at her side.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"Don't move. I will be more than happy to gut her," the djinn said. It gestured with the knife in an upward motion, and Sam complied by raising his hands to shoulder level.

The djinn was still holding Elizabeth, and its grip on her throat had not lessened any. In fact, it was holding her so tightly, and so far off the ground, that Elizabeth was now clinging to its arm in an effort to raise herself up for breath. She was beginning to feel faint, and there was a muffled roaring sound in her ears. Was it really going to strangle her to death? She made eye contact with Sam, her look frantic.

"I think you ought to know," Sam was saying, "that I have a knife of my own all ready for you. Dean was sure we were dealing with some kind of djinn, and I guess he was right."

Elizabeth, unable to see anything more than the smallest portion of her assailant's arm, was appalled by his words.

 _It's a djinn? Why is Sam telling him about the knife?_

And then she realized – she had a knife, too.

"Bring your knife out slowly," the djinn was saying. "Toss it over…"

It never finished the sentence. Elizabeth dropped her left hand to the sheath hanging off her belt and pulled out the knife that Sam had given her. She swung blindly behind herself and felt the blade make contact with something. Elizabeth stabbed and then jerked the blade down. With a howl, the djinn released her and flung her away into the underbrush on the side of the trail.

As soon as the djinn turned its focus on Elizabeth, Sam snatched his own knife out. He launched himself at the djinn and caught it at the waist, tumbling them both to the ground. Sam brought his knife up, but the djinn had twisted around to face him. It caught Sam's wrist in a fierce grip with one hand and punched him in the chest with the other.

Sam grunted and fell hard, rolling to his back. The djinn pulled itself to its knees and then flew at him, its blade aiming at Sam's throat. But Sam was ready. As the djinn dove at him for a killing strike, Sam brought his blood soaked knife up and sank the blade into the djinn's gut. With a strangled cry, the djinn toppled onto him, dead.

Elizabeth was on her hands and knees coughing and gasping for air. Sam kicked aside the dead body of the djinn and rushed to kneel next to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Elizabeth, are you hurt anywhere?"

Elizabeth was unable to answer. Sam lifted her and turned her body this way and that, searching for injuries. Mostly it was just scratches and scrapes, but she did have a pretty significant cut on her left leg.

"I…I think…I think I cut myself," she finally managed to gasp out, and Sam couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, I think you did," he agreed. "But you were amazing. He wasn't expecting the damsel to have a blade, was he?"

Elizabeth smiled back, weakly. Sam pulled a bandanna out of his pack and handed it to her.

"Can you tie that on for now? Can you walk?"

Elizabeth knew that Sam was desperate to get to his brother. She took the bandanna and tied it tightly around her thigh to keep pressure on the bleeding wound. Her throat was aching and her breath was still coming in ragged gasps, but Elizabeth gaped when she finally turned her attention to Sam and saw his blood soaked shirt.

"It's not mine," Sam quickly assured her when he saw the expression on her face. "It's all from the djinn."

"Is he dead?" Elizabeth whispered the question as though speaking it aloud might resurrect the monster. She looked past Sam towards the body lying in the path.

"Yeah, he's dead," Sam answered. "Let's get going, okay?"

"Okay, I can walk. This way, right?" Clearly, Elizabeth had no intention of being in the rear this time. If something else was lurking out there, she wanted to see it before it grabbed her.  
"Do you think he was it, or do you think there are more?" she asked Sam as she hobbled forward.

"I don't know for sure," he answered. "Djinn are usually loners, but it's an awful lot of missing persons. And we have encountered a djinn family unit before. Here, I got you." He put an arm around her waist, and they moved with Elizabeth half-walking and half-being-carried. Thankfully, it wasn't much farther to the rock cleft.

Dusk was settling in by the time Sam and Elizabeth reached the mouth of the cave-like Devil's Den. They had stepped just inside when Sam pulled them to a stop against the rock wall.

"Give your eyes some time," he leaned over and whispered into Elizabeth's ear. "Let's just listen for a minute."

After several long, tense minutes they heard nothing from where they stood, and their eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dim light. Sam quickly scanned the area then leaned down again to whisper into Elizabeth's ear.

"I want you to stay right here," he whispered. As she opened her mouth to protest, he pulled her gently but firmly behind a large boulder at the mouth of the rock cleft. Sam pulled them both down into a crouching position. "Stay here. You're hidden to anything going in or coming out. I'll be able to hear you call if you need help. And if worse comes to worst, you've got your blade and your gun."

Elizabeth could barely see the glimmer of Sam's eyes in the even darker gloom behind the boulder, but she could hear enough in his voice to understand what he was asking of her – stay here where he would have one less thing to worry about. She hated it. Hated the thought of being left there – alone – even though she knew that he was right. She was safer hidden here than following him towards the potential danger. And he needed to be able to concentrate on Dean. Elizabeth nodded her agreement.

"Thank you," Sam whispered gratefully. He started to rise but then cupped Elizabeth's face in his hands, gave her a sudden warm, fierce kiss, and whispered "thank you" again in her ear. Then he was gone.

Sam carefully made his way further into the rock cleft, his gun in one hand and an unlit flashlight in the other. Keeping close to the wall and checking for any alcoves, he came across one fairly quickly, but it was small – only about three feet on each side – and he kept moving. He had gone about another twenty yards in when he heard a shuffling, scraping noise. Sam quickly pressed himself back against the rocky wall, straining his eyes to see if he could catch any glimpse of what was causing the sound.

He could just barely make out two figures, hobbling together as though they were helping each other along. They were moving in a way that suggested one or both of them was injured. With the sun low now, the dim glow that had allowed them to see at the mouth of the cleft had rapidly faded. Sam wished he could see more clearly, but he didn't want to use his flashlight unless absolutely necessary. The light was a dead giveaway to anything still lurking. He decided to use the blackness to take the advantage.

He stepped quickly into the middle of the passage, gun pointed at head level.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Both figures raised their heads slowly, wearily.

"Help us, please…"one of the figures spoke in a thin, quavering voice, and Sam lowered the gun just a bit. Were they victims that had managed to escape somehow? Had Dean helped them?

"Who are you?" he asked again. "Where's Dean?"

But the figures did not answer, did not seem to have heard him at all. They continued to shuffle forward, and Sam could see a darker shadow raised in front of them as though one held a hand out pleading for assistance. They were only about fifteen feet from him now, and Sam's senses tingled uneasily. Why would they not tell him who they were or what had happened? Five feet away.

"Stop! Tell me who you are!" Sam's voice was louder and more commanding now.

"Help…help us…"

Sam shone his flashlight very suddenly in one of the faces. In that instant, he realized two things – the face belonged to Brandon Coontz, the missing person whose file Dean had shown him, and this had to be a ghoul because the real Brandon Coontz was dead – with most of his body missing.

Blinded by the sudden light, the ghoul hesitated a split second before reacting. In that second, Sam leveled his gun and fired a round point-blank into its head. The ghoul fell. Sam swung toward the other figure, but it was already moving. With a horrible, feral scream, the other ghoul crashed into Sam, slamming him back into the rock wall. Sam managed to hold onto his gun but the flashlight fell and skittered away, its beam bouncing crazily around the floor and walls, ending up pointing away from them but still providing some reflected light.

The ghoul was gripping Sam's wrist where he held the gun, and pressing into Sam's other shoulder with all of its weight. It leaned forward to tear viciously into Sam's upper arm with its snarling mouth.

Sam hollered in pain, twisting his body with all of his strength, infuriated at the sight of the ghoul sneering at him while Sam's own blood stained its teeth. He kicked his leg out and managed to throw the ghoul off balance enough to release some of the weight from his other arm. Sam reached across his body and found the handle of his knife, pulling it from its sheath and bringing it slashing across the ghoul's midsection.

With a howl the ghoul fell back, clutching at the gaping wound in its stomach. Before it could recover, Sam shifted his grip on the knife and then plunged it straight into the ghoul's lower jaw, through its mouth, and into its brain. The creature stood there agape, a strange gurgling coming from the back of its throat. Sam finished it off the same way he had the first ghoul – the barrel of the gun against its forehead, one bullet.

In the stillness that followed the second gunshot and the sound of the second body dropping, Sam heard a small, tentative voice.

"Sam? Are you okay?"

"Fine…I'm fine," he called back to Elizabeth between quick breaths. "I think we're all clear, but just stay right there. I've got to find Dean."

Sam pulled his knife out of the ghoul's head, then snatched up the flashlight and shone it quickly around the rock walls. He immediately spotted an alcove on his right about thirty more yards into the cleft. He rushed towards it. It was obvious that it was the alcove he was looking for before he had even reached it – the stench of death assailed his nostrils at about twenty yards out and grew worse the closer he came to the mouth of the alcove. He spotted Dean as soon as he came to the opening and shone his light around the large space. Dean hung there, suspended from the ceiling by his manacled arms, surrounded by other victims.

"Dean!" He looked deathly pale, his sunken eyes were closed and his head lolled back as Sam shook him by the shoulder. Urgently, Sam pressed two fingers just under Dean's jawline, checking for a pulse. It was there, somewhat stronger than he had dared to hope. With a disgusted noise, Sam yanked the IV needle from Dean's neck. He opened a small front pocket on his backpack, found his lock pick, and began quickly working on the handcuffs. In no time, Sam had them opened. He caught Dean's body as it sagged toward the ground and gently set him against the rock wall, cutting the ropes around Dean's arms with his knife.

"Dean! Dean!"

 _He's lost a lot of blood –_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The air in the dungeon was dank and musty, but the smell was now tinged with the metallic tang of blood. The Dark Throne had never received such an offering at one time. Dean's blood, streaming over the arms and back of the chair, had thoroughly soaked the wood and pooled around the base. He should have been dead twice over, but the Mark had done its best to fight back. Dean, Cas, and Crowley had been battling since early morning – first opening the initial cuts, and then reopening them again and again as the Mark tried to mend and protect its newest guardian. Finally, finally, the battle was coming to an end.

Dean was very close to death. His body had felt weak and numb for hours now, so he couldn't perceive any physical change. But he could tell that the end was near by the anguished look on Cas' face, and the barely subdued look of triumph on Crowley's. _Fine, let him be happy. This is almost over. No one is ever going to suffer again because of my mistakes –_

"Do you think it's time that I finish the incantation, my feathery friend?" Crowley asked.

Both Crowley and Dean looked to Cas for his response. Dean felt one last pang of guilt for Cas' tormented look. On second thought, perhaps one more person would suffer. Dean knew that allowing Sam to die had been agonizing for Cas. Only one thing had made it bearable, and that was the fact that once Sam was dead, Cas had personally escorted him to heaven. A good heaven, one where Sam would be content.

There would be no heaven for Dean. Just an eternity of darkness, an eternity of nothingness. And Dean knew that Cas was appalled by that thought. For a long time he did not respond to Crowley's question. Then, slowly, as though he were forcing himself to make each move, he approached Dean and lay two fingers against his forehead. When Cas dropped his hand to his side, his expression was one of the most profound sorrow.

"Yes, I believe it is time to finish the incantation," he answered.

"Excellent…" Crowley murmured, rubbing his hands together cheerfully before reaching into his pocket to retrieve his copy of the translated spell.

"Thank you, Cas…" Dean's voice was hollow, imperceptible to human ears, but Cas had heard him. "Sammy…"

"He's here, Dean. He wished to speak to you."

That was unexpected. Sam was standing in front of him.

"Dean!" Sam was hollering at him.

No – NO! Dean couldn't form the words, couldn't make his voice work no matter how frantically he tried. Why would Cas and Sam do this? Why would they bring Sam back knowing that the spell would not work? Had they found some other way to conquer the Mark, some way that didn't involve releasing the Darkness? Was it possible?

Sam was calling his name again.

"Dean! Dean!"

 _He's lost a lot of blood –_

That much was obvious from Dean's gray pallor and his overall sunken appearance. Sam propped the flashlight against the wall, its beam pointed up to the ceiling and reflecting dimly throughout the alcove. His eyes scanned his brother's body, assessing. The face had clearly taken a beating, but the rest of him seemed fairly unharmed. Breathing was slow but steady, pulse was still stable.

"Dean! Dean! Come on, man, wake up…" still Dean didn't respond, and Sam suspected that the blood loss was only part of the problem. He felt sure that Dean was under the influence of a djinn's poison. Sam bleakly considered the incredibly low bar that their current life would have set – fairly easy for a fantasy life to beat. _He's probably dreaming that he's in hell and thinks it's a vacation –_

A moaning noise from behind him caused Sam, crouching on the ground next to Dean's inert body, to swivel around and pull his gun once again from his waistband. The noise was coming from the man that had been hanging next to Dean. His face was also sunken and ashen, and Sam wondered how long he had been there. He had clearly been used as food for the djinn, too. Luckier than some, Sam thought, recalling the horrifically gnawed bodies that the flashlight had revealed when he had first stepped into the alcove and swept its beam over the inhabitants. The man moaned again, and his eyelids blinked slowly open. Sam put his gun away and rose, stepping closer to the man.

"Hey, hey – can you hear me? What's your name?"

"Danny…Danny Muse," the voice was thick and slurred.

Sam was working on the handcuffs that held Danny suspended.

"Can you stand?"

The cuffs released, and Danny sagged to his knees. He cried out as his arms dropped down from their long held position, convulsions of pain shuddering through his body as he knelt there. Sam kept a hand on his shoulder, but as the pain lessened he seemed capable of sitting up without assistance. Sam dropped to one knee and sliced through the ropes on his arms. Danny was still blinking slowly, trying to focus his eyes, trying to acclimate himself.

"Who are you? I don't know what's happening…"

"Can you stand?" Sam asked again. He grasped Danny's upper arms and pulled him into a standing position. Danny slumped against the wall as soon as Sam released him, but at least he was somewhat upright.

"Check the others…someone's alive…" Sam spun around again at the sound of the feeble voice.

"Dean?" He rushed back to his brother's side.

"Help me up…" Dean's voice was low, but already less feeble for having been used once. Relief swept over Sam – Dean was awake, Dean was fighting – everything was going to be okay. He put an arm under Dean's shoulder and drew him up. Dean's teeth were clenched, his lips pressed stubbornly together, but he couldn't suppress a groan. He clung to Sam's shoulder for a couple of seconds, then pushed off and stood on his own, his breath ragged with pain and effort. Sam hovered nearby for a moment longer.

"I'm going to check the rest. You okay?" Dean nodded jerkily and managed to raise a hand and gesture weakly for Sam to carry on. Sam picked up the flashlight and began making his way further into the alcove.

Dean was too optimistic, Sam thought as he made his way along. Mutilated bodies, dried husks of bodies, but no one still alive. He stopped at each victim, checking for a pulse, checking for any sign of life, but he found nothing. Sam briefly considered calling for Elizabeth to come help him, but quickly dismissed the idea. For him and Dean, the alcove and its ghastly sights and smells would be just one more memory to suppress, one more nightmare to dismiss. But for Elizabeth, it would be unlike anything she had ever encountered. Even being a doctor would not have prepared her for this. Sam realized that he couldn't bear the thought of subjecting her to the sight. He fervently hoped that she would stay put exactly where he had told her to.

The victims were hung in orderly rows, three and four to a row where the alcove widened out, and Sam felt repulsed at the careful planning and execution of the carnage. The alcove went roughly twenty feet back into the rock face, and Sam found three empty eyebolts hanging from the ceiling at the back. That must have been where they had held the three victims that had been found. Sam counted the bodies that he had checked. Those remaining, plus Clemmer Adam's burned bones, plus the bodies discovered at the dumpster and the farm, totaled all of the missing persons. Danny Muse apparently hadn't even been reported as missing yet.

"Dean," he called, "the rest of the missing persons are here, but no one's still alive."

"I really thought there was…" Sam heard Dean start to reply, then he seemed to be speaking to someone else. "Hey, just take it easy, man. Stay right here. We'll all get out of this together."

Danny had apparently recovered enough to devolve into a full-blown panic. Sam heard shuffling footsteps and the sounds of a scuffle.

"Just wait a minute, okay? We've got to see if anyone else is alive. We'll get out togeth…"

"I don't care if anyone else is alive or not! Let me go! I have to get out of here!"

Danny was hollering, his words reverberating in the enclosed space. Sam saw Dean back away from him, his hands in the air in a clear signal of "do what you want, man." Danny stepped out into the main passage and began shuffling away from the alcove as quickly as he could manage.

Sam and Dean both heard the guttural cry, the noise choked off abruptly, and a heavy object hitting the ground. Before Dean could marshal a reaction, before Sam could make his way from the back of the alcove, the second djinn was already there, throwing Dean into the wall and holding him pinned there with a hand on his throat.

Sam charged the djinn with enough force to cause it to lose its grip on Dean and fall back into the main passage. Sam landed on all fours next to it, but jumped up immediately and whirled to find his knife where he had left it when cutting the ropes on Danny Muse's arms. He saw then that Dean had slumped to the ground when the djinn had released him, and for a split second Sam was torn between checking on his brother and retrieving the knife. But it was too late for either. The djinn had rolled back to its feet and delivered a quick blow to the back of Sam's head. Flashes of light popped in Sam's vision Blackness washed over him like a wave, and he crumpled to the ground.

A scream punctuated Sam's fall, and the djinn turned to see Elizabeth standing in the passage. She held an arm across her mouth now, muffling the cry that had escaped. In her other hand, she held a knife, and the djinn smiled mockingly at her.

"Come on, sweetheart. I think your heroes are gone. If you're going to do anything with that knife, now's your chance," it said, spreading its arms wide with a laugh, daring her to attack.

Elizabeth didn't move, didn't relinquish the knife, but the djinn could see her trembling. It laughed again and strode towards her. The only light was that of the reflected flashlight beam coming from the back of the alcove and the djinn seemed to be blocking it out the closer it came to Elizabeth. _Please, Sam, please don't be dead –_

The djinn was almost on top of her now, and Elizabeth could still see the dark outline of Sam's body lying in the passage. She gripped the knife as tightly as she could, and backed up slowly as the djinn advanced, leering at her. Suddenly, Elizabeth lunged forward, thrusting the knife in front of her, determined to make some effort at resistance. The djinn was too quick, though. It grabbed her wrist with one hand, deflecting the blade harmlessly to the side. With the other hand, it grabbed her free arm, bending it behind her waist and pulling her in close.

"That wasn't bad," it said. Its face was within inches of Elizabeth's own, and she could smell the blood on its breath. "Now just hold still, and you'll get to die happy, sugar." It clenched her wrist tightly, painfully, and increased the pressure until Elizabeth dropped the knife with a sob. Then the djinn brought its hand up, and Elizabeth saw a strange blue energy burning in its palm. Struggling, her free hand attempting futilely to push the arm away, Elizabeth's attention was riveted by the terrifying blue flame. And then suddenly it was gone – the flame extinguished and the arm dropping away, the entire body going slack. Elizabeth, the grip on her arm released, jumped aside as the djinn staggered, the blue light that had burned in its eyes glassing over. Then it pitched forward onto the ground, a knife protruding from its back. And Elizabeth's eyes flew upward to see a bare-chested Dean standing there where the djinn had just stood.

"Dean!"

"How many has Sam killed? How many are dead?" Dean barked the questions at her urgently.

"Uh, five…that makes five," Elizabeth stuttered, wracking her brain to make sure it was an accurate statement. "The shifter first, the shifter that was pretending to be you. And then a djinn on the trail. And then two of something here. And then you just killed another djinn." She searched Dean's face to see if it was the answer he had wanted to hear and was relieved to see his countenance and posture relax.

"Okay…good," he said. "That's all of them." He bent over to retrieve his knife, but straightened up quickly as Elizabeth started to move past him. "Whoa, hold up. Just wait here, okay?"

"But Sam is…" she began in protest.

"Sam is okay. I checked him," Dean responded. "Just knocked out. He'll be up in bit."

"I'm the doctor!" Elizabeth snapped. "I think I should be the one to determine if he's okay or not." She started to walk around Dean, but again he stepped in front of her, holding his hands up to halt her.

"I know he needs your help," Dean said. "But he would hate me if I let you go over there. Trust me, okay? He wouldn't want you to see that."

Elizabeth had a sudden memory of the bodies next to the dumpster and shuddered.

"I'll have to see them eventually," she said.

"Well, that'll be in a nice sterile doctor's office if I have any…" Dean started then was interrupted by the sounds of Sam rousing. Dean held his hands up one more time to stay Elizabeth, then hurried over to his brother. Sam was already pushing up to stand.

"Hey man, how's the melon?"

"Hurts like hell, that's how it is," Sam groused. "I don't think it hit me that hard, it just got me right on the perfect spot. Was that the last damn one, I hope?"

"Yeah, Elizabeth gave me the count. That's all of them."

"What the hell was this even? Shifter and djinn and ghouls?" Sam asked

"Yeah, I'll explain later. You need to get over there to your girl. I wouldn't let her come back here."

"Thanks, man," Sam said gratefully. "How are you?"

"Feel like I could collapse at any moment, so I've been better," Dean answered.

"Did you hear me say I didn't find anyone alive? I mean, other than Danny. Did you check him?" Sam's eyes shifted over to the crumpled body a few feet from them.

"Not yet. Not holding out much hope, though. Dumbass…" Dean said. "I told him to stay with us. I'll check him. And don't get your panties in a wad, but I'm going to recheck the others, too."

"Be my guest," Sam responded. He walked towards Elizabeth who was fairly itching to examine his head. He knew they would have to start on the hike out soon, get the shifter's body disposed of, and get the police out to Devil's Den for all the victims. But first, he decided he wanted to let Elizabeth fuss over him for just a few minutes.

Dean checked Danny Muse's body and found, as he had suspected, that Danny's neck was broken. He shook his head in disgust. Danny should have listened – they could have actually saved one if he had just listened. Then Dean made his way back into the alcove. He spotted Sam's backpack and found a bottle of water and a protein bar which he quickly consumed. Feeling somewhat stronger, he began rechecking each of the victims. Dean had checked four of them when Sam reappeared.

"I think you're right, man," Dean began. "I was just sure I heard someone, or felt like someone…"

Both of their heads snapped to the back of the alcove where the very faintest of sounds could be heard. Dean swung the flashlight in that direction as they both pushed past the other bodies, making their way toward the sound. Sweeping the flashlight beam from side to side, Dean was still unable to find a source for the noise. Then Sam pointed.

"There! Over there!"

Pointing the light into the back corner of the alcove, they finally saw it – a fissure in the rock wall. A fissure that they saw, as they approached it, was concealing a tiny, hidden space. Bound and gagged, Kayle McClanahan lay there curled on the ground. She squinted her eyes pitifully against the bright light, clearly too weak to do more than make the faintest noise through her gag.

Dean thrust the flashlight into Sam's hands and quickly lifted Kayle into the larger alcove space. He untied the gag and then cut the ropes binding her. Kayle's breath came in quick, shallow gasps as she tried to speak, but no words would come out. Dean picked her up again and moved as rapidly as he could back towards the main passage where Elizabeth was waiting for them. She jumped up when she saw Dean approaching, carrying someone in his arms.

"It's Kayle, the real Kayle," he said, laying her gently on the floor. "There's no telling how long they'd been holding her." Elizabeth knelt to examine Kayle. Sam and Dean stood there for a moment looking helpless, until Elizabeth shooed them away.

"I've got this," Elizabeth said. "You two do whatever else you need to do."

They agreed that the first priority was to get rid of the shifter wearing Dean's face. Dean put his boots back on – thankful that Sam had thought to take them off the shifter's body – then took the offered t-shirt and jacket. They hiked out towards the base of the drop off, leaving Elizabeth and Kayle with a second flashlight from the pack. On the way, Sam explained how his memory of the car wreck had come back, how he had realized they were dealing with a shifter, and how he had eventually killed it.

"So how were you so sure? How did you know it wasn't me?" Dean asked.

"You want the truth?" Sam asked with a slightly self-conscious smile that Dean didn't see in the dark.

"Yeah, truth, how'd you know?"

"Well, for one thing, showing up right then was too much of a coincidence. And insisting that Elizabeth go with us instead of sending her somewhere safe. You wouldn't have done that. But I guess the clincher was…" Sam paused.

"What?" Dean prompted. "What was the clincher?"

"Well, the shifter used your shirt, used your shoes, but thought the jeans were too generic to bother," Sam explained. "I have been following you literally my entire life, dude. You, and Dad, never owned a pair of jeans that didn't have grease stains on the back pockets."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, turning to Sam.

"You're serious?" Sam shrugged his shoulders and nodded sheepishly. "Well, son of a bitch…"

The shifter was still wearing Dean's backpack. They retrieved it and used the small, portable shovel inside to dig a shallow grave in a ravine about ten yards off the trail. They dragged the body over, placed it in the grave, doused it in gasoline, and then set it on fire. It wasn't really necessary to burn a shifter's body, but it would make it much less likely that some wild animal would dig it up. Dean insisted that they Rock-Paper-Scissors to decide who would hike back to cellphone range and who would stay and complete the burying of the shifter's body. He looked vaguely suspicious when Sam lost, but actually did feel too weak to argue.

"I'll go back and stay with Elizabeth and Kayle when I'm done here," Dean said as Sam started to leave. "We did manage to save one, Sammy."

"Yeah. Yeah, we did save one."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Dean wondered what time it was – wanted to turn his head to check the bedside clock – but his body felt completely incapable of movement. A bone-deep weariness seemed to hold him pinned where he lay. He heard water running from the bathroom sink and then footsteps passing the foot of the bed.

"What time is it?" The words came out a garbled mess, but Dean hadn't actually opened his eyes yet, so he missed the amused look that Sam shot him.

"The hell did you just say, man?"

"Time – what time…" Dean raised up slightly. Against every objection that his body and brain screamed at him, he propped himself on one elbow and pried open one eye. The clock read 6:30 _– a.m. or p.m.?_ He flopped back onto the bed. For a moment it seemed that he would fall asleep again, but then he realized that he was starving _– must be p.m._ He sat all the way up and opened both eyes.

Sam was now sitting at the small motel table grinning at him.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You actually awake for real this time?"

"This time?"

"Yeah, you've woken up about four times over the past two hours, but you keep falling back to sleep," Sam explained.

"No I haven't," Dean said, obstinately, fighting the urge to lay back down.

"Whatever. I bet you're starving. Get your lazy ass up, and I'll get you something."

Dean was just getting out of the shower when he heard the motel door open and looked out of the bathroom to see Sam returning carrying a bag of food and – _God bless him_ – a takeout cup of coffee. He quickly roughed his hair with the towel and threw on his clothes. Ten minutes later, Dean reclined back in the little chair with a contented sigh and stretched his legs out in front of him, the cup of coffee cradled in his hands and his stomach pleasantly full of cheeseburger and fries.

The events of the past several hours were gradually coming back to him. The combined police forces of Oneida and three surrounding towns, along with the National Park Service, had been required to transport bodies and survivors away from Devil's Den. Kayle McClanahan had been the first person to be pulled up the cliff in a rescue stretcher and taken down the trail on a four-wheeler. No one could understand how a human that had been in perfect, rosy health just that morning could possibly look like she did, but that was just one of the many things from the night that most of the participants couldn't quite comprehend. Elizabeth was the next to be pulled up in a sling and transported out to receive first-aid treatment for her cuts and abrasions. She and Kayle had left in the same ambulance, so Elizabeth had been able to assure the EMTs that Kayle was simply delirious when she spoke of shape shifters and zombies.

The two tattooed freaks responsible for all the kidnappings and horrific murders were known to the FBI, according to Agents Medlocke and Van Zant, but that didn't make the bloodshed any more understandable. Chief Hutchison had seemed too stunned to manage an investigation, so the Chief Ranger from the park service had taken statements. Per the statement he recorded, Dean and Kayle had followed up a hunch and been captured first, Sam and Elizabeth had gone to look for them and encountered one of the assailants on the trail. A struggle had ensued, and the assailant had ended up stabbed to death. But the other assailant had gotten the jump on Agent Medlocke once they had entered Devil's Den, managing to get the agent's gun which the assailant then used to shoot two of the victims at point-blank range, before Agent Van Zant was able to overpower and stab him.

It was at about that point in the retelling that Sam saw Dean slump against the rock wall of the alcove and nearly slide to the ground. Sam decided that the local investigation was over.

"Alright, guys. My partner needs medical attention," he said in his most authoritative FBI voice. "I want him taken out of here immediately. All of the evidence gathered here is part of an ongoing federal investigation, so everything is going to be sent to our field office. I'll coordinate that information with the Oneida Police Department tomorrow." And he had marched Dean out and managed to hold him up until they could get him into the rescue stretcher. Dean had allowed himself to be taken to the ER and given two units of blood, but had refused to be admitted to the hospital.

"So here you are, a solid fourteen hours of sleep, give or take, and a cheeseburger under your belt. How are you feeling?" Sam asked.

"Not bad, considering. Thanks for the grub, and the coffee," Dean lifted his cup and nodded to Sam in a pseudo toast. "Has anyone talked to Kayle?"

"Yeah, actually Elizabeth's been at the hospital today with her. Kayle's awake and alert, apparently. Elizabeth's given her the basics on what shape shifters and ghouls and djinn are, and what happened to her. Sounds like she's doing okay. Seems like Kayle is pretty strong," Sam said.

"Good, good. What else did I miss today?" Dean asked.

"The medical examiner from Winfield is handling all the bodies. I suggested that would be preferable since the medical examiner here was part of the investigation. I just didn't want Elizabeth to have to deal with it all. I know it's one more person involved, but Elizabeth knows the guy, so she can direct him if she needs to."

"It's okay, I get it," Dean said. "We had a small army last night anyway, so I don't think one more person is going to hurt."

"That's what I thought, too. And then I gave the Oneida Police the address to send all the files to. So that's probably a half-dozen more boxes for that storage container."

"Sounds like you've got it pretty tied up," Dean said, nodding approvingly. "So..?"

"So…what?"

"Are you going to see Dr. Ogle again before we leave?"

"Well, yeah, actually," Sam stumbled just a bit over the words. "I'm taking her to dinner. I expected you'd still be resting."

"Hell, no, I'm good. I could eat again." Dean laughed at the look on Sam's face. "You idiot – I'm just kidding. You go play doctor, Sammy. I'm going back to bed."

They settled on picking up food from the Chinese restaurant, and a bottle of wine, and taking it to Elizabeth's house to avoid the curiosity of the locals. As they ate, their discussion flowed over a wide range of topics, and Sam was somewhat relieved to find that he was still capable of carrying on a conversation with an educated woman. Nothing was said, though, about the ordeal that had actually brought them together.

When they had finished eating, they carried their wineglasses to the couch, and Elizabeth found a movie on TV. It was something neither of them cared about, but it was a good excuse for her to lean back against him as they watched. When Sam put his arm around her, Elizabeth reached up and twined her fingers with his. And for several minutes they sat like that – both of them ostensibly watching TV – Sam enjoying his view of her body as she leaned her head back on his shoulder, and Elizabeth marveling at the solidness of the chest behind her. They had just caught the last bits of the movie, and when it ended Elizabeth switched the TV off. She turned to face Sam, and her smile made his stomach clench. He cleared his throat and moved away just a bit to pick up the bottle of wine.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Sam asked as he refilled Elizabeth's wineglass, then emptied the rest of the bottle into his own. "Any of it?" Elizabeth's smile faded, and Sam could have kicked himself for bringing the subject up. She stared at the glass in her hands, swirling the contents a little, obviously considering the question very seriously.

"I think Kayle is going to need someone to talk to," she said. "And I'll be the only one she'll have. I don't know how long it will take, but I think we'll be able to work through it."

Then she set her wine down on the coffee table, and reached over for Sam's glass, setting it aside also. She took both of his hands into hers, rubbing her thumbs lightly over the scraped and bruised knuckles, then turning his hands over and continuing to rub across the palms and fingers.

"That feels really nice, Dr. Ogle," he said, and she laughed at him. She started to pull her hands away, but he caught them in his own and brought them up to his mouth, kissing the fingertips. Elizabeth stood up and drew Sam to his feet. He rose, pressing her hands against his chest and leaning down slightly to inhale the delicious scent from her hair. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm very sure, Sam," Elizabeth said softly, looking up into his face. She turned to lead him to the bedroom, but something made him pull her to a stop. Elizabeth turned back to him, puzzled at first and then embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, if you don't want…" she stammered, a flush rising to her face, making her that much more beautiful. She wet her lips anxiously, and his eyes were drawn instantly to her mouth. He was so engrossed that it took him several seconds to realize that she feared he might be uninterested.

"Oh god, I didn't mean that at all," he said. He dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her towards him. "You can't even imagine how much I want…" his voice trailed off as he kissed her briefly and then buried his face in the crook of her neck. Elizabeth smiled.

"I think I can imagine a little," she said, her voice low, her hips pressing against his body. Sam made a sound somewhere between a moan and a laugh. Reaching up, Elizabeth spread open the collar of his flannel shirt and leaned into him, kissing just above his collarbone, her tongue exploring the warm indention at the base of his throat. And Sam melted into her, his body curling to hers, his hands drawing her closer.

"You know what kind of life I have, Elizabeth. I just mean, I can't be…" Sam whispered the words to her, and his lips grazed the tender skin behind her ear. She shivered, her breath catching in her throat, and his hands unconsciously clutched her more tightly. Elizabeth clung to his broad shoulders as he pulled her against his body, her head tilting back as his mouth traced the pulse in her neck. But she could feel that he was still holding himself in check, hesitating.

"Sam," she said quietly, "I'm not asking you to be anything." Elizabeth placed her hands on his face, tilting his head up so that their eyes met. "I just want to give you a good memory, Sam. Something to keep against all of the bad ones."

He groaned low in his throat, a sound of need and longing, and kissed her again. But this time his mouth was as rough and eager as his hands, wanting more and more, allowing himself to drown in her warmth and softness, holding nothing back.

Dean was feeling pretty close to happy. The early spring weather was sunny, he had good tunes on the radio, and Sam was riding shotgun. It was as right as their world ever got. He was still feeling some lingering effects from his capture, but nothing he couldn't manage, certainly nothing that would prevent him from making the drive home to Kansas.

They had set out late that morning, making a stop at the hospital where, just two days ago, Sam had spent several hours. Kayle was going to be spending a couple more days there at least. Her inability to recall the past month of her life was being attributed to short-term memory loss due to trauma. She was doing better physically; but her demeanor, which Elizabeth assured them had been bubbly and flirtatious just as portrayed by the shifter, was still subdued. She had been pleased to see Sam and Dean, though.

The truth was, Kayle remembered every detail of the past month, bound and gagged in a tiny hole, forgotten for days at a time and surrounded constantly by the sounds and smells of evil and death and wanton destruction. Elizabeth had explained about the shifter and the other monsters, but she had been deliberately understated in her delivery. Kayle understood without any embellishment how close she had come to death.

"I know I wouldn't be here without the two of you," she said, her eyes, still hollow and sunken, holding Sam's and Dean's gaze with their intensity. "I owe you my life. Thank you."

"We're just glad you're doing better," Sam said. "We're glad you and Elizabeth have each other." They rose to leave, but Kayle called Dean back.

"So we went on a hike together, huh?" She smiled at him, some light returning to her eyes. "I'm sorry I missed that."

"I am too," Dean said, a smile curling up one corner of his mouth. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

The car ride after that had been mostly quiet. Sam had been wrapped up in his own thoughts. And if those thoughts were about what Dean assumed they were about, then Dean was happy for him. He was just about to suggest a lunch stop when Sam spoke.

"So was it like the last time?"

"Last time?" Dean asked, confused. "Last time what?"

"The djinn world. Was it like the last time?"

It would have been so much easier to lie, to tell Sam that his djinn world was exactly the same as it had been almost ten years ago. But in the end, Dean told him the truth. He told Sam that in the djinn world, this time, the Mark was still on his arm, and the Darkness had not been released. He told him about the bizarre Dark Throne and the spell that was to keep him, Dean, from becoming the murderer that the Mark wanted him to be while at the same time preventing the Darkness from ever being freed. And then Dean told him about what had been required to work the spell.

"So you had to kill me?"

"Yeah…I mean, I had killed you," Dean tried to explain. "Like, in my imaginary world, I was just remembering something that I had already done. Crazy, huh?"

"No…not crazy," Sam said. "Apparently, that's your fondest wish, or deepest desire, or whatever you want to call it right now, for the Darkness to never have been released. I get it." For a long time, neither of them said anything else.

"I'm sorry, man, you know I can't control it, right?" Dean finally broke the silence, his tone apologetic, asking Sam to understand.

"I'm not mad, Dean," Sam said quickly. "I'm not. I'm just thinking. Like the djinn takes what you want, and what you know, and what you think, and mixes everything up, right?

"I guess," Dean answered. "I sure as hell didn't ask to be the expert on this."

"Yeah…" Sam said with a wry laugh. "I know. I just don't get…"

"What? What don't you get?"

"I don't get the part about me being in heaven with Jessica," Sam said. "Does that mean that your idea of a happy ending for me is to go back to where I was before we started hunting together?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Again, neither of them spoke. Sam broke the silence this time.

"We created this mess together, Dean. We're going to clean it up together." He let that sink in for a bit. "And I don't want to go back. I would give anything for Jessica to have never died. But I don't want to go back."

"Okay, I got it," Dean cleared his throat. "Ready for lunch?"

"Yeah, ready for lunch."


End file.
